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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272625">pluck my (heart)strings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_kiwi/pseuds/a_kiwi'>a_kiwi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Coming of Age, Depression, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Orchestra, Slow Burn, They form a band together eventually, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:15:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>67,996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_kiwi/pseuds/a_kiwi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how two rivals from freshman year form an unexpected bond over the course of their high school careers, despite everything, through the power of love and pop punk music.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. High Hopes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the beginning of two life-changing rivalries.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life was unfair.</p><p>Ferdinand knew that much at least. He had lived a full fourteen years up until his first year of high school, and at this point, each new year brought a new curveball into his life— moving schools, losing friends, and losing trust in his ever-distant family were only a few.</p><p>Despite that, he was still hopeful.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>If you had told Ferdinand that his high school career would be spent in a love-hate relationship with a boy that had an uncanny resemblance to a vampire, and by his senior year the two would be in a band together that pumped out punk music, and that he would <em> like </em> it, Ferdinand would have called you insane.</p><p>But on his first day of high school, his fate was already decided.</p><p>He spent the first half of the day getting lost in the twisting halls at Garreg Mach High School and trying to make new friends in all of his classes. He found a fellow tea lover in Lorenz in his Human Geography class that morning, a seemingly nice and rather familiar girl in Dorothea in his English class, and he became acquainted with Sylvain in gym class over their love of horse riding, despite Ferdinand having to lecture him against being a hopeless womanizer. The day happened to be normal enough that the unfairness of life didn’t even cross his mind— until orchestra.</p><p>Ferdinand had been wonderful in orchestra in his middle school years. He had a talent for playing the violin, and he picked it up rather quickly in sixth grade. Ever since, he had always been the best and the brightest of his class— always first chair of the violin section, always had amazing scores on his solo pieces for competition, and was always almost perfect. But in high school, that would change.</p><p>When Ferdinand walked into Garreg Mach’s orchestra room, the chairs were set up in a semicircle around the director. Most of his classmates were already there, each one seeming fairly intimidating, and almost all seemed as though they were upperclassmen. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that he <em> did </em> make it into the school’s second-highest level of orchestra, and took an open seat in the violins section next to the only girl who looked his age.</p><p>Ferdinand eyed the girl next to him, suddenly feeling unprepared. She sat up straight in her chair, near-perfect posture, and her long, white hair fell around her face in a way that only made her appear more mature. She had actually brought her violin today— Ferdinand, on the other hand, had left his at home as he acclimated to his new school. Even her violin case seemed fancier. It was polished black leather, and with the aura this girl assumed, Ferdinand wouldn’t have been surprised if it was genuine.</p><p>“Hello,” Ferdinand greeted, feeling somewhat awkward, but trying to appear confident. He straightened his posture to match hers and plastered a smile on his face. “I sat here because you seemed to be the only one in here that’s my age.”</p><p>The girl looked over to him and gave a small smile. “Are you a freshman as well? I’m surprised you noticed, I think most of the upperclassmen I’ve seen today just assume I moved here this year.”</p><p>Ferdinand nodded. “My name is Ferdinand von Aegir.”</p><p>“I’m Edelgard,” she responded. Edelgard wasn’t looking at him much; she mostly kept her eyes on the door on the opposite side of the classroom, observing and probably analyzing all the students who walked in.</p><p>“So, how long have you been in orchestra?” Ferdinand prompted, trying to continue a conversation, unsure if it would last.</p><p>“I’ve played violin since I was seven,” Edelgard replied, glancing at him, “but I didn’t join an orchestra until middle school.”</p><p>“Makes sense. I’ve played since sixth grade, and I’ve gotten pretty good in that time.” Ferdinand cracked his knuckles as if he were about to show off his skills. Edelgard, however, seemed unfazed; her eyes remained on the door.</p><p>“I don’t doubt that. I think we might actually be two of only a handful of freshmen who made it into Chamber 2 this year.”</p><p>“Really? I thought that a lot of talented freshmen would make it in, I just wouldn’t expect anyone to make it to Chamber 1.”</p><p>“Garreg Mach is full of talented students,” Edelgard remarked. Ferdinand watched her eyes widen slightly— when he looked over to the door to see who caught her attention, he locked eyes with probably one of the scariest guys he’d seen all day. “Speaking of which…” Edelgard continued, waving the guy over.</p><p>Ferdinand felt sweat prickle at the back of his neck. Never in a million years would he admit that this guy was <em> intimidating </em> to him, but no other word felt right. As he approached, Ferdinand made out more details— his black hair hung around his face like a gloomy rain cloud, his baggy, dark <em> My Chemical Romance </em> shirt was tucked into blue jeans and held by a brown belt, a ring snaked its way around bony fingers. Ferdinand straightened his posture as the guy bore holes into him with sharp, yellow eyes.</p><p>Edelgard, however, seemed delighted to see him. “Good afternoon, Hubert. How was your Chemistry class last period?”</p><p>Hubert crossed his arms, finally shifting his gaze away from Ferdinand, who gave a relieved sigh. “It was fine. My lab partner, however, seemed scared of me. She was shaking the entire time.”</p><p>“I wonder why someone would be scared of <em> you… </em>” Ferdinand mumbled. When Hubert’s gaze flicked back to him, Ferdinand tried to maintain a composed face despite his heart pounding at his chest.</p><p>“And who are you?” Hubert asked.</p><p>“M—my name is Ferdinand von Aegir,” Ferdinand repeated, significantly less confident than the last time. “I am a freshman, and I play violin. I was only making small talk with your friend, Edelgard.” With the way Hubert was staring, Ferdinand felt as though he was sitting in the wrong spot.</p><p>“I see,” Hubert said as the bell rang. “My name is Hubert von Vestra, and I play bass. I have been friends with Edelgard for many years.”</p><p>Ferdinand considered the pair an unlikely friendship. After all, how could a scary guy wearing a <em> My Chemical Romance </em> shirt be best friends with a normal, mature-looking girl? Maybe this was the sort of instance where two people became childhood friends and remained close despite taking completely different paths in life. Or maybe Hubert had downplayed their relationship, and Edelgard was attracted to brooding, mysterious guys?</p><p>“I know, we don’t look like we would be friends at all,” Edelgard laughed. “I can assure you, we are more similar than meets the eye. And Hubert is much nicer than he appears.”</p><p>Hubert’s glare didn’t do much to back up Edelgard’s words. Ferdinand shifted in his seat, giving a nervous laugh. “We’ll see about that.”</p><p>Hubert’s mouth twisted, about to retort, when their new orchestra teacher called them to their seats to start their first day of class. He retreated to the bass section at the opposite end of the classroom. Ferdinand pretended not to notice the daggers he was glaring at him.</p><p>Soon after addressing the class, the director allowed the students to have some free time, promising to get into a normal practice routine by the end of the week. Ferdinand pulled out his phone, ready to scroll through Instagram boredly for the remainder of the period. At the mention of free time, however, Edelgard’s eyes were lit with the flames of passion, and she pulled out her violin from its case. Most people began to practice, actually, and even Hubert grabbed the bass he was assigned.</p><p>Ferdinand didn’t think much of it until he heard Edelgard play.</p><p>Well, first of all, she began to tune her violin completely by ear. A pang of jealousy burst through Ferdinand— he still relied on the tuner he kept in his case. Once she was done, she pulled out some sheet music from her backpack— it was a classical song he didn’t recognize, which was <em> also </em> shocking because he thought he knew a decent amount of classical music. But when Edelgard put her bow to string, Ferdinand couldn’t help his mouth hang open slightly.</p><p>Her bow strokes were perfect— long in the middle, short at the ends, and more elegant than most musicians her age. Her fingers hit the notes in just the right spots, keeping the perfect tuning, and even her vibrato was on point.<em> There was no way she was only in Chamber 2, </em> Ferdinand thought, because he was sure that no one in their class, upperclassman or not, could match her skill level.</p><p>He caught Hubert’s eyes from across the room. He was smiling, as if to say, <em> you underestimated her, didn’t you? </em></p><p>Ferdinand shook away the feeling of inferiority that had begun to plague him. “Wow, that was wonderful,” he managed, just as Edelgard stopped playing at a part she had messed up. She smiled at him.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said. “I suppose I’ve improved a lot over the years, too.”</p><p>Ferdinand just noticed Hubert moving his bass and stool over to Edelgard’s other side. “Edelgard is very talented,” he added with a smirk toward Ferdinand.</p><p>“That means I’ll just have to work harder,” Ferdinand shrugged. The thought of improving more and more energized him— maybe one day he could be as good as Edelgard was, if not even better?</p><p>“Are you always this competitive?” Edelgard asked.</p><p>“Now that you mention it, I guess I’ve always been like this. In middle school I would constantly try to get first chair, and even get the highest grades among my classes.”</p><p>Hubert sneered. “When it comes to this, you might as well not even try. You won’t become better than Edelgard.”</p><p>Ferdinand glared in return. “I won’t let some guy in a <em> My Chemical Romance </em> t-shirt lecture me about being good at music when he obviously has no taste himself.”</p><p>Edelgard’s eyes widened, stifling a laugh. Hubert, however, boiled with anger, but he didn’t let it spill over. He positioned himself on his stool and held his bass in front of him, bringing his bow to a string. “I’ll show you what being good at music looks like.”</p><p>He began to play the bass solo from the third movement of Mahler’s Symphony No. 1. Ferdinand would recognize it anywhere— it was a classic, short bass solo, and many of his old orchestra members would practice it in small pockets of spare time. Reluctantly, Ferdinand admitted to himself that Hubert had decent vibrato and good tone, but he would rather die than give praise to him.</p><p>When Hubert finished the solo, Ferdinand clapped sarcastically. “Wow, <em> amazing </em>, why don’t I start showing off by playing Canon in D? I’m sure I could even perform it by memory at this point.”</p><p>Hubert scowled. “It’s a good solo, and I can convey the creepiness well. Admit it.”</p><p>“Well, to me, it seems like you need to work more on your bow movements, they’re not fluid enough. You didn’t crescendo enough either, it should be more obvious. And the repeated parts aren’t supposed to be almost the same volume as the first ones.”</p><p>Edelgard shrugged. “I thought it was great, Hubert.”</p><p>“Personally, I don’t understand why you’re even in Chamber 2 if you’re obviously not good enough,” Ferdinand crossed his arms; Hubert clenched his fists. “If you’re not talented enough to shape the music into what it was intended to be, then you should drop to Symphony or even Philharmonic.”</p><p>When Ferdinand caught Hubert’s eyes next, he knew he had crossed a line. Hubert’s expression was one that couldn’t quite be described with words— the lines of his face were pointed, as if drawn with a ruler, his eyes were painted with ire. Ferdinand thought that if they hadn’t been in school that very moment, Hubert might have strangled him.</p><p>Edelgard placed her hand on Hubert’s shoulder before he could find harsh words or actions in response. “Ferdinand, you know that’s not true. Hubert is an amazing bass player and musician, and I think he’s perfectly capable of keeping up in this orchestra level—”</p><p>“Well, what about <em> you </em>?!” Hubert snarled, only momentary subdued by Edelgard’s words. “You come in here and you don’t even have your instrument with you. You’re amazed by every note that Edelgard plays as if you can’t play anywhere close to that! Why waste your time if you’re only going to be subpar forever?”</p><p>“Me? <em> Subpar </em>?” Ferdinand stood, clenching a hand on the back of his chair. “I’d show you right now if only I had my violin and some sheet music I’ve practiced—”</p><p>Hubert gestured to Edelgard’s instrument and music. “Well, you’re in luck, because there’s some right here in front of your eyes!”</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to touch another person’s expensive instrument, and I’ve never practiced that music! Do you expect me to sight read something that complex?”</p><p>“Well, if Edelgard can do it, why can’t you?”</p><p>Ferdinand took a step back. <em> She sight read that piece? With an increasingly complex rhythm and lots of different types of notes and even shifting high up on the E-string? </em> He noticed a couple people in the class staring at them, although thankfully the director was in their office.</p><p>He glanced over to Edelgard, who was trying to calm Hubert down in vain. Ever since she played her first note, he knew it would be a tough road ahead to beating her and becoming the best violin player in the Chamber 2 section of the orchestra at Garreg Mach. But sight reading complex pieces and performing them almost perfectly for multiple measures before a mistake? Perhaps Hubert was right about this one.</p><p>Life was unfair— and this exemplified it. Ferdinand wouldn’t live up to his own expectations for his high school career. He wouldn’t become first chair with flying colors. He would always live in the shadow of Edelgard’s talent.</p><p>Despite this, he was still hopeful.</p><p>“You’ll see my skill tomorrow,” Ferdinand mumbled, ready for this class to end, ready to get out of the shadow of Edelgard, ready to not see Hubert’s annoying face. “I’ll show you that I’m worthy to be here.”</p><p>“We’ll see about <em> that </em>,” Hubert sneered.</p><p>When the bell rang, Ferdinand grabbed his backpack and made a run for it before he had to look Hubert in his stupid eyes one more time.</p><p>Once he was in the safety of the crowded hall, he pulled out his map and traced his way to his next class, Latin. On the way there he saw Lorenz and waved, remembering for a moment the fortune that this morning had brought for him and how quickly it had all gone downhill in just one class period. He made it to the next classroom with enough time to spare and took a seat near the front.</p><p>And just when he was thinking his luck wouldn’t get any worse, Edelgard and Hubert walked into the room.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ferdinand breathed a sigh of relief when he made it home that afternoon.</p><p>Latin had been hell also— he could feel Hubert’s eyes on his back for the entirety of the class, and when the bell rang, he rushed to the bus lane as fast as he could. </p><p>Now he was home, and finally he could relax, at least for a short while. No one seemed to be home yet— he reminded himself that high school ended an hour and a half earlier than middle school did, so his mom wouldn’t be home for around another half hour. His dad, however, was always working well into the evening.</p><p>Ferdinand retreated upstairs. With all the glaring that Hubert did today, he felt as though he needed a shower to wash off his presence. But he powered through the feeling, instead taking out his violin at once and looking through his old sheet music to find something suitable for tomorrow— something that would show off all of his skills and none of his weak points.</p><p>There was his solo from last school year, but it had already been half a year since he had played that, and he had made so much more progress in the time since then. He took a look through the music he had worked on over the summer— all from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, as that was his favorite piece of classical music. Summer III. Presto sounded really cool, especially halfway through it, but the beginning parts were too difficult to master in just one night. Autumn I. and III. seemed easy in the beginning, but there were some harder solo parts in the middle that Hubert was certain to mock him for not being able to play. He figured that his favorite, Spring I. Allegro, would be the easiest— the trills and crossing all his strings would be difficult, but at least he knew how to play it at a basic level from all the practice he did over the summer. Now, he just had to perfect it before tomorrow. How hard could it be?</p><p>Ferdinand brought out his music stand and tuned his violin, this time trying to do it by ear and checking with his tuner. He was pretty close— soon, maybe, he could tune it by ear in class like Edelgard could. His ambitions to become a better musician than her kindled his competitive heart, and he started to practice.</p><p>The beginning parts were easy and fun, except the trills, which took a while of practice to get better. They weren’t perfect yet, but they were doable, and at least he was better than Hubert (but were there even any bass pieces with trills? It didn’t matter; Ferdinand decided that he would be better than him anyway.).</p><p>When he reached the harder middle parts with quick successions of notes, he took a break. The exhaustion of the day was just beginning to set in— his high school started at seven in the morning now, instead of nine, and his sleep schedule had been messed up in the summer due to multiple late-night practice sessions (his house was big enough so that his parents couldn’t hear from their bedroom, thankfully). He flopped onto his bed and checked his phone, surprised to see that it was already after four.</p><p>His bed was so comfortable, especially after getting little sleep, after the argument with Hubert, and after standing and practicing for so long. His body screamed for rest, just a quick little nap, only a handful of minutes or hours… but his mind was focused on the next day. He had to perfect his solo; he had to win. Ferdinand powered through the weariness and stood, playing the harder sections over and over until he got it right.</p><p>He didn’t realize how late it had gotten until the smell of dinner wafted up into his room and his parents called him downstairs.</p><p>It was already six, now— the sun was much lower in the sky, his father was home from work, and his practice was slowly but surely bearing fruit. Ferdinand set his violin and bow on his bed and headed downstairs.</p><p>“I could hear you practice while I was cooking,” his mom said, greeting him with a warm smile. She was still dressed in her secretary outfit— a white dress shirt and a black pencil skirt— with a stained apron draped on top. “You were wonderful.”</p><p>Ferdinand returned the smile and took his usual seat at the dinner table. His mind returned to orchestra class from earlier— Edelgard’s talent, and Hubert’s anger— and he couldn’t resist fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt.</p><p>His father appeared in the doorway to the dining room, as round as ever— he had really let himself go after he got that promotion in his law firm a couple years back. He took a seat at the head of the table, his mom placing two perfectly-baked fillets of salmon on his plate.</p><p>Ferdinand grabbed a fillet for himself before his parents could ask him about his first day of high school. He knew it was probably inevitable, but how could he tell them that he’s not the best in orchestra anymore? How could he mention Edelgard’s skill?</p><p>His parents made idle chat— the sort of conversation that only happens when two people fall obviously out of love for each other, and only remain because change for either is too scary of a possibility. And, well, they still had Ferdinand, and neither wished to disrupt his life until he was at least out of the household.</p><p>After his parents ran out of trivial things to talk about and his father had devoured most of his dinner, he turned to Ferdinand.</p><p>“How was high school?” he asked, rather curt. Ferdinand blinked himself out of his thoughts.</p><p>“It was… interesting,” he answered between slow bites of food. The nerves in his stomach were destroying his appetite. </p><p>“Your mom said you’ve been practicing violin all afternoon. How was orchestra today?”</p><p>“It was fine,” he lied. “I just didn’t bring my instrument to school today, and wished to get some practice in before we have to play in class.”</p><p>“You know, I think some of my coworkers have kids at Garreg Mach who play violin too,” his father mused, trying to remember. “The Hevring kid plays something, but I don’t think he’s your age. Hresvelg boasts about his daughter all the time. It’s the only thing he has to brag about anymore, the poor bastard. Lost all of his clients and money after my promotion.”</p><p><em> Hresvelg? </em> Ferdinand realized he didn’t quite catch Edelgard’s last name, but now <em> Edelgard von Hresvelg </em> was ringing a bell in his head.</p><p>“Now that I mention it, he did say today that his daughter was a freshman there now.”</p><p>“Edelgard?” Ferdinand probed, twisting his shirt cuff into a knot under the table.</p><p>His father clapped his hands together. “Ah, yes! Miss Edelgard. She was cute when she was young, Hresvelg used to bring her into the firm all the time. He says she’s very talented with the violin. But she can’t be better than you, right, Ferdinand?”</p><p>Sweat pricked at Ferdinand’s neck. “Never,” he answered with a smile as fake as his parent’s marriage.</p><p>“That’s our Ferdinand, always the best in his class,” his father laughed; each one echoed loud in Ferdinand’s mind.</p><p>He pushed away his half-eaten plate and stood. “Thank you for dinner, but I have to get back to practicing. I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>He gave a quick smile before returning upstairs, trying hard to mask any guilt or nervousness. When he made it back into his room, he shut his door, taking deep breaths, and returned to practice.</p><p>
  <em> I have to become better than Edelgard. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t lose. </em>
</p><p>He played late into the night.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The next day, Ferdinand dreaded returning to orchestra.</p><p>During his morning classes, he counted the minutes, desperately hoping that they would somehow become longer, or that maybe that something drastic would happen like a fire and the school could skip that class period altogether. Then he could have another day to practice. He knew he needed it.</p><p>Despite his hopes, sixth period came as normal that day— and thus did Ferdinand’s orchestra class. He took the seat next to Edelgard, who was already practicing the same piece from the day before. Ferdinand took out his violin and began to tune it by ear, hoping that he was doing it correctly.</p><p>
  <em> But she can’t be better than you, right, Ferdinand? </em>
</p><p>He bit back shame and started his octave warmups.</p><p>A few minutes later, Hubert entered the room alongside the normal stream of students. Ferdinand didn’t see him, but he could almost sense his presence at this point. The bell rang soon after, and their director told them to tune and warm up for a couple of minutes while the copies of their first music were printed.</p><p>Hubert made a beeline for Edelgard and Ferdinand. “You actually brought your violin today? I assumed you would be a coward and forget it…” he mocked.</p><p>“Hubert, don’t escalate things like yesterday,” Edelgard warned. “You as well, Ferdinand.”</p><p>“Let’s see how he performs first,” Hubert said.</p><p>“I assure you, I won’t mess up. I practiced all night,” Ferdinand replied, setting his music on the stand and bringing his violin to his chin. He placed his bow on the strings, heart pounding, trying not to let Hubert’s menacing stare affect him. Edelgard, however, had a more reassuring presence, so Ferdinand tried to only pay attention to that.</p><p>The first few notes came out slightly nervous, but he quickly got into the groove of the song— even his trills were better than they were the night before. He let his mind block out Edelgard and Hubert and the rest of the class, focusing only on the pull of the music and the feelings of a warm springtime. His crescendos and decrescendos were dramatic, bringing out the emotion of the piece. When he got to the harder parts in the middle, his nerves made him falter, but he powered through it and stopped after that section.</p><p>Edelgard’s mouth was open in surprise; Ferdinand turned to her, ignoring Hubert entirely. “That was amazing, Ferdinand, I will admit,” she said, making him blush from the praise. “That sounds like something straight out of Chamber 1.”</p><p>Hubert sneered. “You still messed up in the beginning and near the end. A true musician wouldn’t let his anxieties affect his music whatsoever.”</p><p>Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “You’re just upset that I’m a better musician than you.”</p><p>“You are not. And you’re certainly not better than Edelgard.”</p><p>
  <em> That’s our Ferdinand, always the best in his class. </em>
</p><p>“I’ll show you someday, I’ll improve, I’ll do whatever it takes—”</p><p>Ferdinand was stopped by Edelgard’s hand on his arm. “I told you, don’t argue today,” she said, forceful. “You two are both great musicians. As for you, Ferdinand, I don’t intend on losing, either.” Her eyes were lit with passion, much like yesterday when she was first able to play.</p><p>Hubert looked like he wanted to prove Ferdinand wrong, but he listened to Edelgard and backed off. He retreated to the bass section as their director began passing out the music.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Thus, the friendship bloomed— that is, if you could even consider the relationship between Ferdinand and Hubert as friends. The three of them would quarrel throughout orchestra, Ferdinand and Hubert always on the brink of an argument, Edelgard and Ferdinand always competing, and Hubert always backing Edelgard. Sometimes Hubert and Ferdinand could be nice to each other (although it was mostly sarcastic). Sometimes the arguments would spill into the passing period and their next class. Constantly would Ferdinand practice; never could he move out of Edelgard’s shadow.</p><p>Then, the first chair test arrived.</p><p>After a few weeks of school, a chair test was almost overdue— it decided who was the best of the class and who was the worst, where everyone would sit, and, for the violins, who was first and second violin.</p><p>Ferdinand never had a reason to worry before. In middle school, getting first chair was so easy that he would hardly have to practice. Now, with Edelgard and all of the other talented students in Chamber 2 obstructing his path, he wasn’t sure if he would even be a first violin.</p><p><em> No, I won’t even consider that possibility. I’ll make it into the first violin section, and I’ll beat Edelgard while I’m at it, </em> he assured himself.</p><p>On the day of the test, Ferdinand walked into the orchestra room exuding a false confidence. He took his seat next to Edelgard, who was already warming up. He didn’t listen to the music she played, or watch her elegant bow movements, or see the <em> real </em> confidence she had— he only began to warm up, as well.</p><p>The day before was another long evening of practicing; it reminded him of the first day of school, how he had gone home and went immediately to practice, taking a brief respite only for dinner and then it was practice time again until the early hours of the morning. He worked on his bow movements, making them hopefully as graceful as Edelgard’s. He worked on his vibrato, especially on the longer notes of the piece they would be performing today. He even highlighted every crescendo and decrescendo, vowing to make the volume changes as dramatic as possible.</p><p>Thankfully, Hubert didn’t mess with Ferdinand that day, although the two locked eyes multiple times from across the room, glaring.</p><p><em> Hubert has it easy </em> , Ferdinand thought, <em> there’s only three basses in Chamber 2, so he only has to compete with two people. Meanwhile, there are twenty or so violins, and one of them is Edelgard… </em></p><p>The bell rang, and the pressure in the room became so tangible that it could be cut with a knife. The director took their position at the stand in the middle of the orchestra, and after a few minutes of tuning and warming up they got started right away by telling the violin currently sitting in first chair to play.</p><p>Alarm bells rung through Ferdinand’s head— he would have to play <em> in front of everyone </em> ? His old director in middle school made them record themselves in a practice room and sign a sheet with their name to make it more anonymous. But no— this time, he’d have to not only perform in front of everyone, but he’d have to perform it well enough to <em> beat Edelgard. </em></p><p>As each violin player performed, Ferdinand’s anxiety only increased. He twisted the fabric of his shirt so much that he was sure Edelgard had noticed it by now. </p><p>
  <em> Why did he and Edelgard have to choose a seat in the back on the first day? </em>
</p><p>He tried to distract himself by rating each person’s performance. So far, none were better than Edelgard, and each could be outperformed by himself, as long as he didn’t screw it up. The director took notes on little slips of paper. They wrote a lot whenever a student did bad.</p><p>Twenty minutes into class, it was finally Edelgard’s turn. Ferdinand would be next— he braced himself.</p><p>When Edelgard began the piece, it was as if all time stopped— the only thing that existed was music. The piece was only a simple etude meant to display their skill, but she still played it with all the grace required for a symphony or concerto. Ferdinand bit back his envy, refusing to meet Hubert’s eyes this time.</p><p>She finished, and Ferdinand could feel the amazement in the room. In that moment, everyone knew that they couldn’t compete with her— she, just a freshman, would be the one everyone looked up to.</p><p>In that moment, Ferdinand knew he wouldn’t beat her.</p><p>But he still tried.</p><p>He lifted his violin to his chin, taking a deep breath to restore the aura of false confidence he once held before. He began the piece as strong as a mezzo forte would allow. His bow strokes were swift, but not as elegant as Edelgard’s. The tone of his notes were perfect, but his vibrato was shaky in certain parts since his hands were actually shaking. But he hit every single note, even the highest ones that required shifting all the way up the E-string, which was something that most of his classmates couldn’t quite do with the same grace.</p><p>Ferdinand was finished before he knew it, and he brought his violin to his lap.</p><p>“That was really good,” Edelgard whispered. “Much better than everyone else, so there’s no reason to worry.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Ferdinand whispered back, still worried. He caught Hubert’s glare and sent back a triumphant smile.</p><p><em> ...He did it </em> , he realized. His first chair test of high school was over. He wanted to feel relieved, happy, <em> anything </em>, but the respite was short— soon after his performance came the crushing fact that Edelgard’s performance was much better than his own.</p><p>How would he explain this to his parents? How would he put up with Hubert’s incessant mocking? <em> How could he improve? </em></p><p>The chair test wound its way through the entire orchestra. After the violins, the violas performed, then the cellos, then the basses, going faster through the smaller sections. Hubert performed as the last bass— Ferdinand noted that a couple of his criticisms on the first day of school still rang true, however the other basses were obviously not on the same level as him.</p><p>With only a few minutes left of class, the director decided to give them their new chairs anyway. Ferdinand crossed his fingers when they started with the violins.</p><p>His hopes were dashed when Edelgard’s name was called first.</p><p>But his name was next, and he and Edelgard moved to their new positions at the very front of the orchestra. Ferdinand’s heart was pounding; he almost didn’t hear the rest of the results, but he listened enough to know that Hubert was first chair of the basses.</p><p>It was… crushing. <em> Humiliating. </em> After so many years of being the best, suddenly the crown was ripped from his head. Sure, he was expecting this, but expecting something and experiencing it were two entirely different things. He was expecting to lose to Edelgard, but that didn’t mean that the defeat wasn’t any less crushing.</p><p>“Don’t beat yourself up, Ferdinand. You did wonderful,” Edelgard assured him as they were packing up their instruments in the last few moments of class. “But I practiced almost all night.”</p><p>“S—so did I,” Ferdinand mumbled. He shook his head.</p><p>Edelgard placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look at everyone who you beat,” she whispered, glancing back at the rest of the violins section behind them. “You’re the second best violin in the Chamber 2 orchestra at Garreg Mach, and you’re a <em> freshman </em>. Even if you can’t beat me, I still think that’s something to be proud of.” She winked.</p><p>Hubert, however, showed his compassion for Ferdinand by mocking him during the entire walk to Latin.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>When Edelgard announced her candidacy for class president, Ferdinand didn’t hesitate to declare his.</p><p>By late September, it was about time for class officer elections anyway. Ferdinand didn’t know exactly how it worked, but from the information he gleaned from the announcements and other students, he learned three important things: there were multiple positions for officers, the officers would work together to plan and execute events, the biggest one being their senior year prom, and there was a president— a noble title to have, even if only in the context of a high school.</p><p>At first, he didn’t know if he wanted to run or not. Creating a campaign wouldn’t be easy, especially one that would reach the entire freshman class and get him elected over other potential candidates.</p><p>But when Edelgard wanted to run, he saw it as an opportunity to prove himself.</p><p>That Wednesday, all the students who wished to run gathered in the library after school to declare their candidacy. Ferdinand saw a lot of upperclassmen who he didn’t recognize, a lot of freshmen who he didn’t recognize either, Edelgard, and, unfortunately, Hubert.</p><p>He took a vacant seat next to Edelgard, who was chatting with some blond guy he didn’t recognize, Hubert shadowing her.</p><p>“Oh, Ferdinand, I didn’t know you had an interest in joining the student council,” Edelgard greeted. Hubert glared, already seeming to know what Ferdinand was up to.</p><p>“You could say that,” Ferdinand replied.</p><p>“Are you here because you heard I declared my candidacy for president?”</p><p>His face reddened. “Well, I— I would dispute that, but I’m sure we all know it’s true.”</p><p>Edelgard laughed. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, Ferdinand. It seems we’ll have a tough road ahead of us, though, because Dimitri here is also planning on running for president.” She gestured to the blond.</p><p>“I don’t believe we’ve met, Ferdinand,” he said. “I’m Dimitri.”</p><p>“Ferdinand von Aegir,” he replied, the two engaging in a somewhat awkward handshake. Dimitri seemed a lot nicer than Hubert, and about as mature as Edelgard— he wished he had befriended Dimitri first, instead of the girl who was better than him and the guy who gave him death stares at every possible opportunity.</p><p>Hubert crossed his arms. “You two shouldn’t waste your time campaigning.”</p><p>“<em> Hubert </em>,” chided Edelgard, “running for president wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t have some good competition.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to be on the council at all if you somehow don’t win.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s ears burned. “<em> You </em> want to run? Who would vote for someone as harsh as you?”</p><p>Hubert gestured at the gathering of students around them. “They might have to. It doesn’t look like I have competition.”</p><p>“I don’t know anyone running for secretary either,” Dimitri added.</p><p>Ferdinand considered switching his candidacy to secretary for a brief moment, but he couldn’t give up— he had to beat Edelgard in <em> something </em>, and if that something wasn’t orchestra, then the race for class officers was. Besides, he could always drop to Hubert’s level in the following years of high school to teach him a lesson…</p><p>“I’ll win in a landslide, then,” Hubert declared. “So that just means Edelgard and I will have to work extra hard to secure her position.”</p><p>“Don’t count me out yet,” Ferdinand said. “I don’t intend to lose.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ferdinand decided the best way to tell his parents about his candidacy would be to not tell them at all.</p><p>If he told them right away, they would expect him to win in a landslide, asking for the results of the election every single day until he knew. If he won, he could be proud of himself, but if not, he wouldn’t know how to break the news to them without an outright lie.</p><p>If he had to tell them he lost… well, it was unimaginable. He tried not to think about it, but occasionally his mind would wander and consider the possibilities. At the <em> best </em>, he’d receive an hour-long lecture from his father about ambition and perfectionism. But at the worst…</p><p>Ferdinand pushed away the thought.</p><p>After declaring his candidacy, he and the other candidates had two weeks to campaign until all the freshmen at Garreg Mach voted— then the winners would be announced the next day, Friday.</p><p>Ferdinand, however, had it the hardest— he only had two weeks to plan a campaign better than Edelgard’s without his parents knowing whatsoever.</p><p>Making posters and videos and speeches about why he should win over Edelgard and Dimitri was hard enough, but doing it in absolute secrecy was hell. He came to school half-asleep multiple times in that two week period, on account of staying up until he was certain his parents were asleep to sneak into the craft room and steal poster supplies. Those mornings he even had to wake up before his parents did to get to his bus stop before they would see the large posters he wasn’t quite able to fit in his backpack. He wrote his speeches in little pockets of free time in classes, between classes, at lunch, and before after-school orchestra rehearsals. He recorded them outside in the half-hour window he had before his mom arrived home, practicing all day so he could recite them perfectly in the time constraint.</p><p>One afternoon he was placing more posters around the Fine Arts hall when he ran into Hubert alone.</p><p>“Those half-assed posters won’t get you anywhere, von Aegir,” Hubert taunted.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you scurry back to wherever your girlfriend is?”</p><p>“I—I don’t— she’s not—”</p><p>Ferdinand rolled his eyes, taping up the last corners of the poster. <em> Vote for Ferdinand von Aegir, Freshman President </em> was written in blocky orange letters, with details of his campaign scrawled in a neat calligraphy below— promises for the best senior prom ever, fundraising, more attention to the fine arts, more class events, charity drives, anything he could think of.</p><p>He caught sight of the posters in Hubert’s hands. “Why do you even need posters? You’re the only one running for secretary.”</p><p>“I wish to associate my name with Edelgard’s.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re dragging her down to give me a chance? How sweet of you.”</p><p>Hubert glared at him, and Ferdinand stepped away from the wall to return it. He was a good few inches shorter than Hubert, which didn’t help him muster an intimidating aura at all.</p><p>“I apologize for wanting to help my best friend’s campaign and improve our odds in the following years as well.”</p><p>“Why do you try so hard for her?” Ferdinand spat. “Why do you always have to mock me for trying for <em> myself </em> ? Where’s <em> your own </em> ambition? Or do you just lack it so… so <em> much </em> that you’d rather destroy someone else’s than nurture your own?”</p><p>Hubert stepped back.</p><p>“If you knew even <em> half </em>the shit I’ve gone through to make this ‘half-assed poster’, then maybe you’d give me at least a sliver of respect,” Ferdinand continued. “I’ve probably worked harder than Edelgard herself at this point.”</p><p>“If you knew a quarter of what Edelgard’s been through in her entire life, you wouldn’t say something so tactless.” Hubert ran his fingers through his hair, clenching it hard. “And if you knew what <em> I’ve </em> been through—” A pained expression crossed his face, only for a moment, but just long enough for Ferdinand to recognize.</p><p>“Hubert—”</p><p>“No, you don’t deserve to know. I’m done talking to you.”</p><p>He left.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>If the campaign wasn’t stressing Ferdinand out enough, then their first orchestra concert would be sure to push him over the edge.</p><p>It was a week before the concert when Ferdinand realized. The concert was scheduled for the next Thursday, the exact day when class officers would be voted on. Ferdinand would have to bear that day with all of his anxieties, perform well in front of his parents somehow, and…</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>He would have to explain why he wasn’t first chair.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>In the following week, Ferdinand considered every possible solution to his plight. He thought about begging his orchestra director to switch chairs. He <em> actually </em>begged Edelgard to switch chairs (she gave a firm no). He came up with the plan of being conveniently sick on Thursday. He even thought of coming clean to his parents.</p><p>Well, he never actually <em> lied </em> to them. He didn’t ever mention a chair test, and his parents didn’t care enough about him to ask. He only reassured his parents that he was better than Edelgard when they asked about her from time to time. He could come up with multiple excuses for his lowly second chair placement— he was feeling sick that day, he was too nervous, he was out of his usual orchestra environment and a little shaken up— but he wouldn’t be able to keep it up if Edelgard stayed ahead of him. What would he say when it became obvious that Edelgard truly <em> was </em> better?</p><p>Despite how much he thought about it, the answer never presented itself.</p><p>The day of the concert, Ferdinand headed over to the orchestra room after school for their last practice session and dress rehearsal. He ripped down all of his campaign posters he could find on the way, especially the ones near the auditorium— he couldn’t allow his parents to see them tonight. He would already be disappointing them enough.</p><p>Rehearsal was tough. Instead of being able to go home, Ferdinand had to sit through the other orchestra’s rehearsals, which meant he, Edelgard, and Hubert sat in the rows of the auditorium mindlessly on their phones or doing homework— anything to keep busy— along with the other orchestra kids. Edelgard sat between him and Hubert, who hadn’t spoken to him since the incident early in the week before. He was sure that Edelgard knew what had happened, but despite that she still made an effort to be friendly to him.</p><p>Edelgard was doing geometry homework to the mediocre classical music being practiced by the school’s Symphony orchestra. Hubert had earbuds in, his head turned away from Ferdinand.</p><p>He, however, didn’t have much to do. There was homework, but the ball of nerves in his stomach was too all-consuming to devote himself to something productive. So instead, he scrolled through his Instagram feed a couple times, even going to look at the explore page to see the same popular Twitter and Tumblr screenshots from the past month. He took his earbuds out of his backpack and tried to listen to some classical music that was actually half-decent.</p><p>Chamber 2’s rehearsal helped calm him down slightly. Whenever he played his music, it was as if all of his problems would disappear— the only things that existed in that moment were him and the music. He tried to not think about Edelgard, but instead about everyone else in the violins section, everyone else who he was better than.</p><p>Between the pieces, he caught himself glancing at Hubert. It was an instinctual thing, their glares, but Hubert refused to return them. It frustrated Ferdinand more than if he <em> had </em> been glaring back, but he didn’t know why. Was he really being tactless last week, in their last conversation, or was Hubert just overdramatic? Was what Edelgard experienced really that bad, or was Hubert blinded by care? What happened to him? And most of all, <em> why should he have to worry about it </em>?</p><p>When their rehearsal ended, and Chamber 2 returned to the auditorium seats to watch Chamber 1 practice, Hubert still wouldn’t look at Ferdinand. So instead Ferdinand watched Edelgard, who went back to her homework, this time completing some notes for Human Geography that weren’t due for another week. </p><p>
  <em> If you knew a quarter of what Edelgard’s been through in her entire life, you wouldn’t say something so tactless. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Edelgard’s life… </em>
</p><p>How could someone who had supposedly been through so much still carry herself with such grace? How could she be first chair? How could she be so intelligent and motivated? Ferdinand didn’t understand— he felt pressured by his parents already, so if they were even worse, he would probably crack under their expectations. Was Hubert lying? It wasn’t like Ferdinand didn’t trust him— after all, he had never <em> lied </em>, he was just an asshole to him sometimes— but he didn’t put it past him.</p><p>Ferdinand checked the time— it was a little after five. After the remaining rehearsal, they would be served pizza, and after that it was time to get dressed in their formal concert attire. Each minute was passing too quickly. He twisted his shirt cuff.</p><p>“Are you excited?” asked Edelgard, glancing at the fabric between his fingers.</p><p>“Yeah,” he answered.</p><p>“You don’t sound like it.” Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Is the election worrying you? I noticed you took a lot of your posters down already.”</p><p><em> Curse Edelgard for mentioning that. </em> With his worries about the concert plaguing him for the last few hours, he had forgotten entirely about the election. “I guess.” He glanced at Hubert, hoping the music in his earbuds was too loud for him to hear.</p><p>“It’s not like you to worry about something this much,” Edelgard noted.</p><p>“I must be good at hiding it, then.”</p><p>She laughed. “I’ve certainly been there before. Is the election the only thing on your mind?”</p><p><em> Curse Edelgard for being so damn perceptive. </em> “Yeah,” he lied, “not knowing the results for another day is just eating at me.”</p><p>Edelgard looked at him for a moment. Ferdinand felt his ears grow hot, hoping his lies weren’t so obvious. To Edelgard it probably was, but he hoped anyway.</p><p>She smirked. “Don’t worry about that. We all know I’ll win anyway.”</p><p><em> Curse Edelgard for being so good at kindling his competitive spirit. </em> “I don’t know why you’d say that when my campaign and speeches and posters and everything were <em> obviously </em> better. And you can’t count Dimitri out yet, either.”</p><p>He saw Hubert frown. <em> So he </em> was <em> listening. </em></p><p>“Then I guess we’ll see what everyone else thought of them tomorrow.”</p><p>“Fine, then.”</p><p>“I’m ready for the concert to start already. I’m almost out of homework to do.”</p><p>“Of course you’d always do your work this far in advance. I, for one, prefer to wait to do my Human Geo notes until the night before so I’m more prepared for the quizzes.”</p><p>“I think that’s called procrastination, Ferdinand. Besides, I assumed you would always try and do your homework before <em> I </em>did.”</p><p>Ferdinand crossed his arms. “That’s— yeah, that’s fair. But how can I do all my homework before you do when I have to spend all my time practicing violin to become better than you?”</p><p>“Stop sleeping?” she laughed. “Or accept that it’s futile?”</p><p>“I would <em> never </em>.”</p><p>The conversation fell to its natural end as Edelgard returned to her notes and Ferdinand to his wondering. Every word she said and move she made didn’t seem to imply that anything was wrong. But then again, even Ferdinand himself lied when it came to his parents and their expectations, so why should he expect her to be honest with him if he couldn’t be? Maybe her parents were the same as his, always pushing her to be her best. Maybe she felt the same pressure that Ferdinand did. Maybe that’s why she was the way she was.</p><p>Regardless, Ferdinand was just glad that she seemed to be extending her friendship despite their competition and his and Hubert’s stupid rivalry. Too bad Hubert didn’t have the sense to be nice to people other than her.</p><p>Ferdinand distracted himself with his homework as well until the beginning of the concert. The hours passed too fast for his liking, but no matter how much he tried to grasp the minutes and hold them still, there was nothing he could do about it.</p><p>It was a couple minutes before seven, and the auditorium at Garreg Mach was bustling with activity. The school’s lowest orchestra— the Philharmonic orchestra— was positioning itself on the stage, while every other orchestra was seated together in the back of the auditorium. Parents filed in, taking seats in the front. Ferdinand waved to his parents when they showed up, dread pooling in his body. He noticed Edelgard smile at an older man, probably her father, but he was alone. Hubert didn’t seem to have anyone present.</p><p>Tonight, Chamber 2 would be performing three songs— the first movement of the Holberg Suite, the second movement of the St. Paul's Suite, and Serenade no. 13 in G Major. The first two were shorter, but harder, and meant to challenge them. The last one, usually referred to as <em> Eine kleine Nachtmusik, </em> was a classic and one of Ferdinand’s favorites; it was also easier but longer. He was excited to play it, but at the same time…</p><p>He glanced at the back of his parents’ heads.</p><p>Before he knew it, Philharmonic was already performing.</p><p>The combination of the anxiety and time moving too fast and Philharmonic’s <em> horrible </em> intonation only made Ferdinand feel worse. After about fifteen minutes of playing, Symphony replaced them, which helped the intonation ever so slightly, although there were still some obvious flaws. Sweat pooled on his hands; he wiped it on his dress pants.</p><p>Symphony finished their final song and stood to bow before the audience. Ferdinand couldn’t think of anything other than how his heart was pounding. His fellow orchestra stood from their seats, and he followed dizzily. Edelgard gave him a reassuring smile before she moved to walk in front of him; he followed, plastering on a confident expression. If he was going to perform in front of his parents as second chair, he at least couldn’t look nervous and make it even worse.</p><p>When he stepped on the stage, the lights almost blinded him. It wasn’t anything new— they had practiced with them before— but now, it felt so different to him. There were probably a couple hundred people in the audience— parents, siblings, and his peers— all ready to watch him perform, to watch Edelgard perform better than him. At least with the lights he couldn’t see his parents.</p><p>Everyone took their seats except Edelgard. As first chair, she was the concertmaster, and she played her A-string to lead the whole orchestra in tuning before they performed. All of the bow moments also rested on her— she couldn’t make any mistakes, always having to play perfect strokes and notes to keep the rest of the violins section in line. In a high school orchestra it didn’t matter much, but it was still something important Edelgard had pulled from under Ferdinand’s feet.</p><p>He sat in the lowly second chair. He knew at this point his parents were probably confused; the disappointment would be soon to follow. He took a deep breath, only allowing himself to wallow in pity for a moment, then he straightened his posture, reminded himself that he was just a <em> freshman </em> and was already second chair in the second best orchestra level in their school, and resumed his aura of confidence.</p><p>The director took their place at the middle of the stage, addressing the audience about the first piece they would be playing. Then they turned around, lifting the baton—</p><p>Ferdinand locked eyes with Hubert.</p><p>—and commencing the music.</p><p>Ferdinand stumbled on the first few notes, but he found his footing after the first measure, focusing on following Edelgard. <em> Why was Hubert looking at him now, all of a sudden </em>? The sixteenth notes were fast, but Ferdinand managed to keep up with the rhythm. He watched Edelgard, trying to outperform her— every time she swayed with the music, every bow stroke, every time she used vibrato, Ferdinand copied it all. He could hear the low pizzicato from the bass section— the low pizzicato from Hubert, as if he was there to support Edelgard and keep her on the rhythm despite being on opposite sides of the orchestra.</p><p>No, not only Edelgard. Hubert was supporting everyone in the orchestra, Ferdinand included. As he thought about that, while his bow moved swiftly across the strings, he realized something.</p><p>It was the first time Ferdinand felt truly connected to the music and everyone around him.</p><p>He could sense Edelgard taking the lead, playing the melodies. He could hear the second violins and violas on his left side, echoing them. On the other side, the cellos and basses— and Hubert— held the rhythm steady. It was almost like Edelgard was the leader, and Hubert had a hand on his back, pushing him forward.</p><p>Ferdinand almost laughed. <em> Sentimentality and Hubert don’t mix. </em></p><p>The first piece ended with a long trill, whole note, and applause. Ferdinand moved his instrument into rest position and smiled, hoping that his confidence would ease the minds of his parents at least somewhat. The director turned to introduce the next piece when Ferdinand remembered that it opened with a solo.</p><p>Edelgard’s solo.</p><p>Okay, so, maybe there really <em> wasn’t </em> anything he could do to ease his parents at this point. They would be angry that he didn’t get to perform the solo, because their son was an <em> angel </em> and some random girl wasn’t supposed to be better than him—</p><p>Ferdinand swallowed and brought his violin back to his chin.</p><p>Edelgard’s solo was beautiful, of course. It wasn’t anything more than some quarter and half notes before the rest of the first violins came in, but it would certainly be a big deal to his parents. And it was a big deal to him, as well…</p><p>The second violins seemed to struggle a little with their part, but having a constant barrage of eighth notes for most of the song wasn’t easy. Then the first violins took it over, but higher— Ferdinand felt himself slip out of tune a few times. It wasn’t the worst performance, but they could’ve done better if the second violins had more time to practice.</p><p>Then, their final song— Ferdinand’s favorite. It was much more powerful, and he felt himself get lost in the music again instead of his worries. The dynamic shifts made Ferdinand happy, and he loved that it was a piece where every section had important parts. He noticed that even Hubert looked a little livelier while playing it, too.</p><p>When the song finished, they stood and bowed, basking in the applause. They returned to their seats in the auditorium, and Ferdinand didn’t look at his parents. He didn’t want to see them yet. He couldn’t bear it, and he especially couldn’t break down in front of Edelgard and Hubert. He avoided their eyes as the orchestra exited the stage.</p><p>“You two did great,” Edelgard said when they returned to their seats. She put a hand on each of their shoulders.</p><p>“Your solo was great, too,” Hubert replied.</p><p>“Would’ve been better if I had it…” Ferdinand half-joked.</p><p>“Oh shut up,” Hubert jeered. “At the best, it would be slightly worse than Edelgard’s.”</p><p>“‘Slightly worse than Edelgard’? I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Hubert.”</p><p>“Don’t get used to it.”</p><p>“Oh, and isn’t this the first you’ve talked to me in, like, a week? What happened to cause such a change of heart?”</p><p>“...Nothing.” He glared.</p><p>“And this is the first time you’ve looked at me, too.” </p><p>
  <em> Except for before the performance. But did that even matter? Or was Ferdinand’s weak heart trying to attach sentimentality to a being void of it? </em>
</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, he was just overthinking it. </em>
</p><p>Edelgard turned to Ferdinand. “I think he’s beginning to acknowledge your talent. You did perform <em> Eine kleine </em> very well tonight,” she whispered.</p><p>“Me? Acknowledge von Aegir? Edelgard still performed it better.”</p><p>“But I did well, you <em> have </em>to admit it. I hit all the notes perfectly with all those shifts…”</p><p>“Even the worst violin in our orchestra could do that if they practiced enough.”</p><p>Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’ll really acknowledge my talent one day. Whenever I beat Edelgard.”</p><p>“In a million years.”</p><p>“Oh, so you admit there’s a chance?”</p><p>Hubert scoffed; Ferdinand couldn’t help but laugh. He was happy to get his mind away from his worries, at least for a short while. And he didn’t know what it was, but Hubert was softer this evening, after their performance. He might have been an ass before their concert, but it was as if the music brought out the better qualities in Hubert— his loyalty, his wit.</p><p>Ferdinand shook the thought from his mind. <em> No thinking about the enemy. </em></p><p>When Chamber 1’s performance was over and the rest of the orchestra was dismissed to put away their instruments and go home, Ferdinand raced to the orchestra room. But there was only so much time before he’d have to come back out and go home. He made a scene of saying bye to Edelgard and Hubert— at least, as much as he could without letting them suspect anything. He hoped that they wouldn’t see whatever was going to happen next.</p><p>His parents were waiting in front of the auditorium, a collection of other orchestra kids and parents surrounding them. His mom had a worried expression on her face, but his dad’s mouth was drawn into a straight line, his face seemingly neutral, but to Ferdinand it was clear that a dam of rage was close to bursting.</p><p>His mom approached. “Ferdinand, you didn’t tell us that— that—”</p><p>“What was that?” his father asked, each word pointed, sharp.</p><p>Ferdinand stood tall, clutching at his backpack straps. “Let’s go home.”</p><p>“I want you to explain to me first.”</p><p>“We can’t make a scene here—”</p><p>“Why weren’t you first chair? Why didn’t you get the solo? Why was it <em> that Hresvelg girl </em>?”</p><p>“Dad, I—”</p><p>“Honey, Ferdinand’s right. Let’s make it home first,” his mom said in a soft voice, placing her hand on his dad’s arm. He scowled, but listened anyway, and without another word the three left.</p><p>Ferdinand swore he could feel Edelgard and Hubert’s eyes watching him.</p><p>
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</p><p>At home, hell broke loose.</p><p>“You mean to tell me that you <em> didn’t </em> get first chair?” Ferdinand’s father asked, eyes bulging out of his chubby face.</p><p>Ferdinand twisted his shirt cuff. The three of them stood in the living room. Ferdinand’s backpack and violin case were on the ground behind him.</p><p>“I practiced all night before it—”</p><p>“Well you didn’t practice hard enough, apparently.” He put his head between his hands. “What am I supposed to do now? I’ve been bragging about you at work. If they find out what you did, <em> I’m </em>going to become the laughingstock.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s concert uniform felt tight. The blazer was heavy on his shoulders; the tie was choking him. There was no escape. “I tried, believe me. It isn’t fair of you to blame it on me.”</p><p>“It isn’t fair of <em> you </em> to lie to me and your mother.”</p><p>“I— I never lied…”</p><p>His father waved his hand, narrowly missing a picture frame of their family that would’ve been expensive to replace. “You didn’t tell me the truth, and isn’t that the same as lying? What else are you hiding from me? Where else do you keep losing to the worthless Hresvelg girl?”</p><p><em> The campaign. </em> “I’m trying to become better, I promise. I’ve been practicing for an hour every night at the least, and—”</p><p>“Then make it two until you beat her,” he sneered. “A von Aegir would never accept defeat. Frankly, I am ashamed to see you sit in second chair and look so proud of yourself at the same time. If you can’t beat someone who’s so worthless, then—”</p><p>His mother reached out. “Ludwig, don’t talk to our son that way. He’ll get better. He’s probably nervous and out of place in his new high school.”</p><p>His father slapped away his mother’s hand. “Excuses.” He turned to Ferdinand. “Starting tomorrow, I want to hear you practice for two hours at least after dinner every evening. No excuses. And if I come up there and you’re not practicing or doing homework or something productive, I’ll… I don’t know, but don’t let it happen, Ferdinand.”</p><p>“Y—yes, sir.” Ferdinand’s eyes were fixed on the floor, tracing the lines of grout between the tiles.</p><p>“Now go upstairs. I don’t want to see your face any more tonight.”</p><p>Ferdinand complied.</p><p>
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</p><p>The next day, after Edelgard’s name was broadcasted through the whole school for winning the freshman class president, Ferdinand excused himself to the bathroom. He sat in a stall for a few minutes, trying to cry, trying to let out these stupid emotions of envy and fear and guilt. He wished he could hate them, Edelgard and Hubert— that would be so easy, wouldn’t it?</p><p>But he couldn’t, not completely, at least. And it was unfair.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: hubert's misfortune.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Kids Aren't Alright</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the tale of an unfortunate son.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>normally if it's your birthday you receive the presents, but i'll do some giving today ;) . here's the next chapter— it's one of my favorites so far. enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life was unfair.</p><p>Hubert knew that fact well at this point. His life happened to be a string of disasters loosely held together by music and his friendship with Edelgard. Beyond those two things, existence was just… empty.</p><p>Unlike Ferdinand, Hubert had given up his hope a long, long time ago.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> My own ambition, huh? </em>
</p><p>Weeks, even months after the confrontation in the hallway, after the concert, and after the campaign, those words were still ringing in Hubert’s head.</p><p>He thought about Ferdinand’s ambition a lot. At first, to him, it seemed as though Ferdinand was one of the most selfish people he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He dared to challenge Edelgard— a fool’s task— and he failed every step of the way. It was almost pathetic, really, at least until the night of the concert.</p><p>Hubert had watched him perform that night with all the confidence and pride as if he was sitting in first chair. Hubert had watched him be happy with his performance, be happy with the music. He was confused— why did Ferdinand seem to be so nervous about the concert when, ultimately, it would make him happy?</p><p>It all clicked into place when he and Edelgard saw his parents.</p><p>The glimpse into the conversation was brief, but long enough for each to understand why Ferdinand was who he was. That night, he and Edelgard talked a lot about Ferdinand.</p><p>Ferdinand’s situation didn’t make Hubert suddenly <em> like </em> him. At most, he pitied him. Yeah, it would suck to have the kind of parents Ferdinand had— always pushing him to be the best and breaking him down if he wasn’t. But it wasn’t the worst thing a parent could do to their child.</p><p>
  <em> I don’t have ambition anymore. </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>The rest of freshman year creeped by.</p><p>Hubert watched Edelgard and Ferdinand’s competition from the sidelines. For the rest of the year, he never quite was able to beat her. Every chair test resulted in them in first and second chair respectively. When it came time for the solo and ensemble contest in the second semester, they each performed their solos to the highest score of a 1, and that was about the closest Ferdinand ever got to winning. A fool’s tie.</p><p>Hubert and Ferdinand’s rivalry continued alongside. It was still useless for Ferdinand to try and become better than Edelgard, even though he insisted he must. On a few occasions, Hubert almost blurted out that he should just tell his parents to fuck off when they tried to push him to become better, but he stopped himself since Ferdinand didn’t know he knew.</p><p>And while all that happened, Hubert’s life only became worse.</p><p>Everything started when he was eleven. His father had been working hard to secure a couple promotions for him and his work-buddies, and became stressed and distant as a result. His mother had always been somewhat shitty— in this time she’d bring various men over, tell Hubert not to tell his father or else, and Hubert could only assume what happened when they would retreat into the bedroom afterwards.</p><p>First of all, the promotion scheme his father had managed to attain meant that Edelgard’s family was suddenly thrust into poverty. Hubert remembered seeing her crying in school one day, back when they were only in elementary school, crying because her mom left her dad and her uncle was going to take them from their home now that their daddy couldn’t afford to keep her and her siblings with the pay cut. At the time, he didn’t really know a lot about working or work politics, but the resentment for his father grew when he understood that he orchestrated the whole thing at their law firm, and when Edelgard was forced to live with her vermin of an uncle and cut contact with him for a few years.</p><p>Second of all, the abuse began.</p><p>When his father learned of the cheating, he beat his mom. When she told him about Hubert ‘knowing’, he beat him. When Hubert realized later in middle school that he wasn’t straight, he beat him. When Hubert continued to spend time with Edelgard, after she left her uncle’s custody, he beat him. When either parent drank way too much to dull the pain, they beat him. </p><p>And Hubert was <em> always </em>the convenient scapegoat. Their marriage was failing? Nope, not the cheating and lying, it was because they had Hubert. Stressed? It was Hubert’s fault. Hubert was gay? It was his fault for being such a degenerate child in the first place.</p><p>Hubert, thankfully, had a safe space in Edelgard’s home. He spent a lot of time there— her father was always happy to welcome him, and of course Edelgard was happy to have frequent sleepovers. He still had to return to his own house often, but such nights with Edelgard in a place where he felt at home would always restore his mind for what it would receive at his real house.</p><p>And oh, Edelgard tried everything to help Hubert. Hubert tried everything to help himself. But his cunning parents had an iron grip, and Edelgard and her father could only support themselves on such little money. Any plans of justice would be thwarted because they knew all the police in the area and they could get the best lawyers— hell, they <em> were </em>lawyers— and they effectively crippled Edelgard’s family’s influence with the promotion scheme a few years back. Far was the von Vestra name known and never would it be questioned.</p><p>But during his freshman year, everything seemed to multiply. Before, he only had to ask Edelgard for her color corrector and concealer once a week— now it was at least twice. His father was drunk and angry every evening after work, and his mom was conveniently absent. How Hubert wished he could drink away his problems, too.</p><p>Christmas that year was particularly bad. Plates were broken, curses and insults were thrown, and nothing was given. Even Edelgard apologized for her lack of a gift due to money, promising something extra special on his birthday.</p><p>That night, with a new bruise on his arm and a scrape on his cheek, Hubert found himself wondering what kind of rich Christmas Ferdinand was having. Did his parents buy him five new pairs of the dress shirts and trousers he always wore to school? Did he get the newest limited edition PlayStation? A new horse? And he still had the gall to compare his troubles to Edelgard, who, on that day, would probably be eating chicken and rice for the third meal in a row?</p><p>The thought disgusted him.</p><p>At least for his sixteenth birthday in the following April, Edelgard and her father helped him get his driver’s license and bought him a run-down car. The air conditioning barely functioned, there was no radio, and it was older than Hubert was, but it <em> worked </em>. His parents were angry about it, and they showed it, but they didn’t do anything to his car or stop him from opening a bank account and getting a part time job at a grocery store nearby.</p><p>This was the fundamental difference between him and Ferdinand, Hubert had thought about one day in orchestra while watching him. He and Edelgard had to claw their ways up from hell just to get a fighting chance at a decent life, while Ferdinand was being pushed down from a good life into a decent one.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hubert felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He longed to check it, to talk to Edelgard— anything to get out of the hell that was his parents.</p><p>His dad was screaming at him for whatever reason— maybe because he had forgotten to wash some dishes, or it was officially summertime, and now he’d have to see Hubert’s face more often at home? Hubert had his back pressed to the wall, gritting his teeth, trying to ignore the insults that always stung too deep.</p><p>“You always mess things up, don’t you, Hubert?” his dad slurred, knocking over a half-empty beer bottle, shattering it on the kitchen tile. When Hubert was small, people would tell him how alike the two looked. Staring into his enraged, sunken eyes, he hoped it wasn’t true.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hubert managed, the words sounding a lot weaker than he had hoped. “I’m the worst teenager ever, I’m an asshole, I don’t contribute to the family, I’m a fa—”</p><p>“Don’t talk back to me.” His dad stumbled over; Hubert closed his eyes and felt fingers wrap around his throat.</p><p>His phone vibrated again; his dad was too drunk to hear.</p><p>“Let’s get this over with,” Hubert mumbled. Maybe he could fight back— his dad was strong, he knew, but how strong could he really be while this drunk? It had been a while since he downed a twelve pack in one day. Maybe if Hubert landed a solid punch to the gut, he could kickstart the liver failure…</p><p>The fingers tightened around his throat, but Hubert was able to get him off with a shove. His father stumbled backwards, cracking some glass under his shoe. He picked up the largest shard, cutting his hand in the process.</p><p>“You— you know I could…” <em> kill you </em>. His father glanced at the glass in his hand. The harshest words were left unspoken, but both still knew.</p><p>Hubert stepped away from the wall, lifting his arms in front of his body. The stairs were close to his right— if he could get up to his room, his drunk father probably wouldn’t be able to follow. “End your punching bag? You’d never do that. Besides, killing me would be the one sin you couldn’t cover.”</p><p>His father leapt forward, swinging the glass around. Hubert ducked to his right. The glass scraped him on the shoulder, but he escaped up the stairs. When he got to his room, he locked the door to it and the bathroom and slid down the wall, panting, crumpling his body into a ball, his forehead on his arms.</p><p>It was the first day of summer break after his freshman year of high school and <em> this </em> is what it brought— insults, a bruise to the leg, and a nasty scrape on his shoulder.</p><p>He wished it would all end one way or another. Whether he was liberated from his hell or… or— he couldn’t bring himself to think about it. He didn’t quite fear dying, at least not after the years of his father treating him like this, but he couldn’t bear to think about what would happen to Edelgard. She needed him, so he had to stick around. He had to liberate himself.</p><p>He pulled his phone from his back pocket. A few texts from Edelgard flashed on the screen, along with the time— a couple minutes before midnight. He didn’t bother reading the texts and called her.</p><p>Edelgard answered on the first ring. “Hubert?”</p><p>Hubert sighed. “I’m okay now.”</p><p>“What did he do this time?”</p><p>“It was…” Hubert ran his fingers through his hair. “It wasn’t really a big deal. He just got drunk— drank a whole twelve pack, that bastard— and got mad because I didn’t do the dishes when it was just a bunch of beer bottles and a spoon in the sink. I think he’s angry about summer break.”</p><p>“It wasn’t a big deal? Did he hurt you?”</p><p>“A couple of emotional scars, a bruise on the leg, and a cut on the shoulder.”</p><p>“Oh, Hubert…” He heard Edelgard take a deep breath. “Did he break a bottle again?”</p><p>“Threatened to kill me with it this time.”</p><p>Edelgard’s breath hitched. “Don’t let him, okay?”</p><p>Hubert knew she was probably crying that soft, silent cry of hers. “He’s too much of a coward. Besides, where else would he buy a punching bag as handsome and witty as me?”</p><p>She laughed. “Don’t joke about that right now… I just wish I could help you more.”</p><p>“You help me enough.”</p><p>“No, I don’t.”</p><p>“I’m surviving. That’s enough for now.”</p><p>“I—I could do more… do you think you could sneak out?”</p><p>“Not while he’s awake. He’ll pass out soon enough, but it would be on the couch. I’d have a hard time doing it tonight, but I could sneak out in the morning when the hangover hits.”</p><p>She sighed, calming her hitching breath. “Okay. Promise me you’ll be safe until then, please…”</p><p>“I’ll be safe, Edelgard.”</p><p>“Thank you. I was just about to go to sleep, but please call me again if you need anything, or if something happens. Don’t forget to wash out the cut. Is it deep?”</p><p>“No,” Hubert lied. It stung like a bitch.</p><p>“Well, take care of it, still. I’ll look at it tomorrow. Goodnight, Hubert, stay safe.”</p><p>“Goodnight,” Hubert said as he hung up.</p><p>It was funny how Edelgard had to protect Hubert now. When they were younger, before… everything, it was Hubert who was doing the protecting. It was Hubert who kept her safe from the bullies, who fought the kids who tried to fight her, who eventually got her away from her uncle.</p><p>He took a long shower that night, washing off the blood and the sweat and the memories.</p><p>
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</p><p>That summer between Hubert’s freshman and sophomore years remained largely uneventful and depressing. Whenever he wasn’t working, he was spending his time with Edelgard, and when he wasn’t there he was in some sort of hell at home.</p><p>After two months of working, he bought Edelgard an electric guitar and amp for her birthday in June. She tried to refuse, but Hubert insisted. (After all, he did plan on buying himself an electric bass when he got some more money.)</p><p>His parents’ stress only became worse. Now, his mom would leave for days at a time, going out with who knows who to who knows where. His dad finally discovered drugs other than alcohol— Hubert didn’t want to know what they were, but he was glad that they would sometimes knock his father out for hours.</p><p>But it still didn’t stop him.</p><p>The night before Hubert’s sophomore year started, late in August, he found himself dressing bruises on his side and knees and a scrape on his face. The bruises would be easy to cover with clothes— Hubert had done it hundreds of times before, even though it sucked that he would have to wear pants in the heat of August— but the cut was deeper and redder than usual. He put pressure on it with a towel. It stung. When the bleeding stopped he washed it in the shower, rinsing it out with water. He put some sort of cream on it and a bandage. The steps were mechanical at this point, etched in Hubert’s mind forever.</p><p>He grimaced when he saw himself in the mirror. School was tomorrow— actually, it was in less than seven hours now, since his father had screamed at him until after midnight— and he looked like a delinquent. He had grown a few inches taller, and with that his body became more lanky. His eyes were sunken from his fucked up sleep schedule and the multiple times when he had been scheduled to work eight hours, starting bright and early at six. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a haircut— it fell below his chin now. And to top it all off, the bandage and scar on his face made it look like he got in a skirmish with another delinquent over some drugs or something.</p><p>But he didn’t care about his appearance. If the people thought he was a delinquent, then let them— all he cared about was to not worsen the image of Edelgard. He dug out the color correctors and concealer he used so often and tossed them on the counter for the morning.</p><p>After a few hours of tossing and turning in bed, his mind thinking too much about everything, he fell into a restless sleep.</p><p>
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</p><p>“How was your evening?” Edelgard asked as she slid into the passenger side of Hubert’s car the next morning.</p><p>He was lost in his thoughts, staring at the front of her house. The grass was mowed, albeit haphazardly— Edelgard must have gotten a small pocket of free time, although the lingering heat of the late summer must have made her rush. The rest of the front yard was overgrown. Her father’s car had already left for work.</p><p>Hubert touched the scar on his face gently, prying his attention to his friend. “He got angry again.”</p><p>“Let me see,” she said, moving his hand away. “I can hardly notice it under the makeup.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, it’s also dark outside,” he pointed out. “I hope it’ll still look okay under the lights at school.”</p><p>“It’s usually fine, but try not to touch it. At least you don’t have to put an instrument to your chin.”</p><p>“I’ll try not to whack it with my bass.”</p><p>She rested her head on the window, watching the scenery of the small, sleepy neighborhood as Hubert drove away. “So, we’re sophomores in Chamber 1, huh? Part of me still wishes I had got in last year, but I feel like I wouldn’t have liked being without you anyway. And playing with Ferdinand was fun, too.”</p><p>“Ugh, Ferdinand.”</p><p>“You have to admit that he’s talented, Hubert.”</p><p>“Yeah, fine. But you know what I think of him.” Hubert pulled into a McDonald’s drive-through. “I didn’t get my coffee this morning, want anything?”</p><p>“The usual. And yeah, I know. I just can’t help but feel bad for him when his parents are… like that. It was really obvious how angry they were at the spring concert last year. Poor Ferdinand almost ripped up his shirt from the anxiety.”</p><p>Hubert ordered their food and paid. “It’s not the worst thing a parent could do to their child.” He grabbed his order from the worker, probably scaring them with his delinquent-like appearance.</p><p>“Oh, your hair looks cute in a little ponytail like that,” Edelgard noted. “And yeah, I understand, but you shouldn’t deny the problems he does have. I mentioned him to my father the other day, and apparently his dad works at the firm, too.”</p><p>“I want you to cut it after school today, it’s too long. Shows off how greasy it is.” Hubert sipped his coffee before pulling out of the drive-through. “Now that I think about it, von Aegir might have been the name of the guy that helped with the promotion scheme. Would explain why Ferdinand’s so rich.”</p><p>“I think you’re right. But it’s nothing to admonish <em> Ferdinand </em> for, he didn’t do anything. It was just his dad. It seems like you two are more alike than you think,” she said between bites of her breakfast. </p><p>“I’m sure his dad is nowhere near as bad as mine…” he mumbled, the cut hot on his face.</p><p>“I would hope not. I wish I could get you out of there more often, but my dad won’t budge sometimes.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine. He’s been experimenting with drugs all summer anyway. He’ll definitely bite the dust once he mixes coke with his rampant alcoholism.”</p><p>“And what will your mom do?”</p><p>“Collect life insurance and marry some young, rich guy.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll be fine. In two more years I’ll have enough money to move into a shitty apartment.”</p><p>“You better be fine…” she muttered. “In the meantime, you can’t give up.”</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>A few minutes of heavy silence passed between the two until they arrived at the school. It was fifteen minutes until they had to be in their first period classes, and the parking lot was already bustling with activity. Hubert saw a lot of people who looked younger than him being dropped off by their parents— starry-eyed at the prospect of their high school careers beginning.</p><p>Hubert accompanied Edelgard to the orchestra room to put away her violin when they encountered a familiar orange-haired boy.</p><p>“Good morning,” Ferdinand greeted, putting his violin away as well.</p><p>Hubert eyed his instrument. “So you brought it this time? I would’ve thought you’d be too scared like last year.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s eyebrows furrowed— his usual physical response to Hubert. “Well, I’ll have you know I practiced a lot this summer. It wasn’t like there was much else to do anyway.”</p><p>“Did you even make it into Chamber 1?” Hubert probed.</p><p>“O—Of course I made it! I was one of the best violinists in Chamber 2 last year.”</p><p>Edelgard smiled. “Then I’m looking forward to another year of competing against you.”</p><p>“Oh, I’ll win this time, with my <em> secret weapon </em>,” Ferdinand declared, crossing his arms. Neither Hubert nor Edelgard asked him to explain, but he did anyway. “I got a private lessons teacher over the summer, and she’s helped me improve in so many ways.”</p><p>“So you just discovered that private lessons exist?” Edelgard laughed. “I <em> started </em>playing with a private lessons teacher.”</p><p>Hubert watched Ferdinand clench his hands. “Hey! What other secrets to success have you been keeping from me?”</p><p>“None, really,” she shrugged, and the bell to go to first period rang. “Would you like to walk with us to first?”</p><p>Hubert groaned. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing enough of von Aegir today. Let’s just go, Edelgard.”</p><p>“Be <em> nice </em>, Hubert.”</p><p>Hubert caught Ferdinand’s glare in return. “I’ll join you. I have Physics first, somewhere around this side of the school, I think.”</p><p>Hubert’s heart dropped. “Did you say <em> Physics </em>?”</p><p>“Don’t tell me we have it together,” he sighed. “Show me your schedule.”</p><p>Hubert pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his backpack that he had gotten at their schedule preview a week before, and he handed it over. Ferdinand inspected it, comparing it to the classes he surely had memorized. His expression grew increasingly worried.</p><p>“We have Physics, English, Orchestra, <em> and </em> Latin together this year,” he said, handing the paper back. “How am I going to survive…?”</p><p><em> How am </em> I <em> going to survive? </em> Hubert thought as the three of them made their way to class. He had signed up for the same classes as Edelgard, but this year they only had orchestra— last year they had managed to get four together. As much as he would hate having most of the school day with Ferdinand rather than Edelgard, it was still preferable to spending time at home. He decided to just bear it.</p><p>If Hubert thought his luck that morning was terrible, he wasn’t ready for what the rest of the day had in store. When he and Ferdinand said bye to Edelgard until orchestra and walked into their physics class, they were assigned seats at the same table, right next to each other. Hubert spent most of the class period leaning away from Ferdinand, who did the same, much to the confusion of their classmates sitting on the other side of the table.</p><p>Their English class was all the way on the other side of the school, so not only did they have to speed-walk to make it before they were late, but they also had to sit in the only two seats that happened to be open— at the same table. This time, at least they were across the table from each other, but they still sent each other death glares for the full fifty minutes of class. Hubert told himself that at least the seating in the class seemed to be flexible, but then their teacher passed around a seating chart to fill in so he could learn everyone’s names. And if he thought that was the end of it? It wasn’t— they had to put their phones in the stupid little phone pockets that hung on the wall because, even though they were teenagers, they weren’t trusted yet. So all Hubert <em> could </em> do was send Ferdinand death glares, and all Ferdinand could do was reciprocate them.</p><p>“That was so <em> boring </em> ,” Ferdinand complained as the two walked to orchestra. “If he’s going to make us put up our phones, he should at least <em> try </em> to have an entertaining class. But no, he had to talk about the syllabus for thirty minutes and then remind us about our standardized test at the end of the year…”</p><p>Hubert ran his fingers through the hair that hung over his eyes. “It looks like we can finally agree about one thing.”</p><p>“Us? Agree? I never thought I would live to see the day.”</p><p>“Neither did I.”</p><p>They continued without saying anything else. Hubert put his other earbud in, listening to the pop punk playlist he and Edelgard had made when they were in middle school. It was such a mess of bands and songs that they discovered over the years, but each song represented a distinct time in their lives. <em> Going To Bed Now </em> by Modern Baseball played. He remembered that he found this band around this time last year, and he sent Edelgard this song— it reminded him of Ferdinand. <em> Aptly </em>.</p><p>In orchestra, Edelgard’s mouth twisted up in a smile when she saw them walk in together.</p><p>“How was it?” she asked as they approached.</p><p>“<em> Horrible </em>,” Ferdinand groaned, slinging his backpack under the chair next to Edelgard. “You would not believe our luck. Or lack of it.”</p><p>“We got assigned seats next to each other in <em> both </em> classes,” Hubert explained.</p><p>Edelgard laughed. “<em>Really</em>?”</p><p>“And our English teacher is the most boring man on the planet! We can’t even have our phones with us!” Ferdinand exclaimed, his hands gesturing wildly. He slumped into his chair.</p><p>“All there is to do to pass the time in that class is glare at each other,” Hubert said.</p><p>“It seems like the universe is pushing you two together. Or maybe it’s the counselor who made your schedules this year.”</p><p>“I’m about to request a schedule change, then,” Ferdinand pouted.</p><p>Hubert sighed. “As much as that would delight me, I don’t think that’s something the counselors would change.”</p><p>“I think you’re right. That means that you two will have to suck it up, and hopefully you’ll start to get along better…”</p><p><em> In a million years. </em> All Hubert could think about in that moment were his thoughts on last year’s Christmas, when he was alone in his dark room, watching the snow fall gently through the window. How he had nothing, how Ferdinand had everything. Hubert let his hand trace the scar on his cheek mindlessly, careful not to rub away the concealer.</p><p>“Me? Hubert? Never.” Ferdinand shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the first day of school last year. It’s crazy to think that it was only a year ago.”</p><p><em> The first day of freshman year. </em> Hubert remembered it well, too. Ferdinand’s arrogant confidence, his smug aura, how he put down Hubert’s skills. How he dared to challenge Edelgard despite the futility. And he remembered the next day, too, how Ferdinand didn’t quite deliver on his promises as a musician, how he still had a long way to go until he could even be comparable to Edelgard.</p><p>Despite that, he still had the motivation to become better and better. He had admitted to them on multiple occasions that he would spend hours practicing every evening, especially after the first day of school and on the nights before every chair test and concert. He still tried. He still had hope.</p><p>Hubert didn’t know whether to pity him or envy him.</p><p>“You still had a long way to go to reach Edelgard’s level, and I’m sure you do now. Why don’t you play us something you practiced this summer?” Hubert suggested.</p><p>Ferdinand sat up, proud. “Fine.” He grabbed his violin and some sheet music from his backpack. Hubert didn’t recognize it— he didn’t care for a lot of classical music outside of what he played in orchestra— but it looked complex for a violin. Nothing Edelgard couldn’t play or sight read.</p><p>Ferdinand played the piece well enough, but Hubert saw where he had trouble by the expression on his face. He almost messed up once, but he recovered quickly. Sure, he had made progress over the summer (and especially over the last year), but his music wasn’t as elegant as Edelgard’s yet— it wasn’t even close. Ferdinand looked proud of himself.</p><p>“Wow, you really improved,” Edelgard mentioned.</p><p>“Now you sight read it,” Hubert said.</p><p>She seemed a little surprised, but she took out her instrument. “If you insist. It doesn’t seem too hard, except for that part there,” she motioned to a measure with her bow, “but I’ll try.”</p><p>From the first note, Edelgard already sounded much better. She managed to keep up with the rhythms and the crescendos and a good intonation after only hearing the piece once. She messed up as the same part Ferdinand did, but it was impressive to make it so far into the piece without a mistake when Ferdinand had practiced it over the summer.</p><p>“That was impressive, but I think I’ll take the win for this one,” declared Ferdinand.</p><p>“She <em> did </em> sight read it,” Hubert reminded him.</p><p>“Can you just let me win for once? You’re insufferable.” </p><p>“You’ll have to work harder to beat her.”</p><p>Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I will.”</p><p>“Oh, Ferdinand, haven’t I told you I won’t give up yet?” Edelgard smirked.</p><p>
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</p><p>After a class period full of competitions in orchestra, Hubert and Ferdinand made their way to their next class, the latter crushed slightly by his defeats. It was then that Hubert began to think about lunchtime, and he remembered that, this year, he didn’t have lunch with Edelgard.</p><p><em> Ugh. Maybe </em> he <em> should be the one to get the schedule change. </em></p><p>Thankfully, he and Ferdinand didn’t have to sit together in their next class. Even if Hubert still had to see his face, he was glad he didn’t have to associate with him anymore. And at least during this class he could text Edelgard…</p><p>But when he made it to lunch, he discovered that he didn’t know anyone.</p><p>Except Ferdinand.</p><p>Hubert sighed, holding the shitty school lunch food he always had to buy with his own money. He scanned the cafeteria a couple times over, ensuring that there really was no one he knew, or at least was close enough to sit with.</p><p>He had a couple options— he could sit by himself and look even more like a scary loner, he could sit in the bathroom (did people even do that outside of movies?), or he could sit with Ferdinand. He sighed.</p><p>“What do you want?” Ferdinand asked when Hubert took the seat in front of him. Even though he was also alone, at least he didn’t look like an outcast— not in the way Hubert would.</p><p>“I don’t know any of these people.”</p><p>“So what makes you want to sit with me?”</p><p>“Because I know you, at least?” He dug out his earbuds from the pocket of his jeans. “I don’t want to seem like a loner.”</p><p>“I didn’t think someone like you would care about appearances like that.”</p><p>“I care to an extent.” Hubert put an earbud in and scrolled through his playlist. “And, believe me, I would prefer not to sit with you. But sitting alone would probably make me feel worse, and at least if we sit here in silence I can pretend you’re not… intolerable.”</p><p>“I can agree to sitting in silence.”</p><p>“It’s a deal, then.”</p><p>And they didn’t say anything else.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sometimes Hubert would stay awake into the late hours of the night, just listening.</p><p>He would lie on his bed, on top of blankets and pillows, his skin bare to the hostile air that always lingered in his house. Sometimes he didn’t have earbuds in, and he would hear the house creak when the air conditioning turned on, or he would hear banging and screaming from the living room, or he would hear the crickets singing beyond his window.</p><p>Sometimes he did, and he would hear the familiar sounds of his music, and he would listen to the cascade of memories that accompanied each song. He would let the rhythms of the guitars wash out the outside world.  He would let the drums follow his heartbeat.</p><p>In moments like these, Hubert felt trapped in time. Trapped between the words. Trapped between the memories of his dull life. But trapped in one of a few places where he felt <em> safe </em>.</p><p>
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</p><p>At the end of the next week, Hubert’s English class was assigned a group project.</p><p>Hubert, as a surprise to no one, <em> hated </em> group projects (unless they were with Edelgard, but they always tended to share their homework answers, so everything happened to be a group project between them). They were allowed to pick their groups as long as they were between two to four people. But Hubert couldn’t find anyone— most of the kids in his class probably didn’t read the book anyway, and the few smart people all seemed to be scared of him.</p><p>Ferdinand, however, proposed it first. “Hey,” he whispered across the table, trying not to let the people next to them hear. “I hate you, but I think I would hate it more if I had to do this entire project by myself. I don’t trust the people in this class.”</p><p>“Wow, another thing we agree on,” Hubert said. “This is creepy.”</p><p>“So you’ll do it?”</p><p>“I mean, what other option do we have? I think you’re the only person who knows how to tolerate me here.”</p><p>“No, I really don’t.”</p><p>“You could do it better than anyone else. Go sign us up together and get the assignment paper.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do,” Ferdinand huffed, doing what Hubert asked anyway. He read the paper before handing it over to Hubert.</p><p>“It’s due in a week, and it doesn’t look like we’ll have time to finish it in class,” Ferdinand noted. “I mean, we have Monday to finish the book and Tuesday to work on it, but it’s supposed to be a poster that includes a lot of different things.”</p><p>“It’s stupid that we don’t have class time to finish it,” Hubert groaned. “This is a high school sophomore-level English class. We have one big test at the end of the year that’s five hours long and comprises fifty easy as hell multiple choice questions and an essay that you could bullshit in half an hour and still get the highest score. Why do we have to pretend that our class time is <em> precious </em>?”</p><p>“I hate to admit it, but you’re right. We’ll have to do as much as we can next week and finish it at one of our houses…”</p><p>“<em> You </em> can finish it.”</p><p>“Me? I didn’t make this group with you just to end up doing the whole project. We’re finishing it <em> together </em>, even if we kill each other in the process.” Ferdinand crossed his arms.</p><p>“Fine, then we’re doing it at your house.”</p><p>“My house? What’s wrong with yours?”</p><p>Hubert remembered the conversation they had in the fine arts hallway last year. He remembered his blood boiling at Ferdinand insisting his life wasn’t easy. He remembered Ferdinand’s parents on the night of their first concert. He remembered the snow-white Christmas he spent alone.</p><p>
  <em> If you knew what I’ve been through— </em>
</p><p>Hubert gritted his teeth. “If you want me to help you, then we’re doing it at yours.”</p><p>“You’re always so mysterious.”</p><p>
  <em> No, you don’t deserve to know. I’m done talking to you. </em>
</p><p>Did Ferdinand even remember?</p><p>“If you want to get a good grade on this stupid project, don’t question it,” Hubert said. “Especially now that I have an avenue to mess with your GPA and class rank…”</p><p>“H—Hubert, that’s not fair at all! You know I’m only six ranks behind Edelgard!”</p><p>He couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hubert and Ferdinand decided to meet after orchestra rehearsals the next Thursday, the day before the project was due. Hubert didn’t have to work that day, and he’d be glad to accept any offering to get out of his house on a weeknight, even if it was Ferdinand who extended his hospitality. It worked especially well because Ferdinand’s parents were off on a business trip for the end of the week, and Hubert was able to provide the ride home.</p><p>Hubert was a little embarrassed when he had to leave rehearsals with Ferdinand, and even more so when he had to transport him in his beat-up car with no air conditioning on a hot September afternoon. Edelgard had looked <em> so </em> amused when Hubert told her of his… situation.</p><p>“Be careful that you two don’t become <em> friends </em>,” she had warned playfully. “It would be so weird if you were suddenly nice to each other.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I still hate his pretentious face,” Hubert had replied. “I even threatened him by mentioning how I could tank his grade and GPA with this project.”</p><p>Now, driving to Ferdinand’s house, Hubert watched out of the corner of his eye how Ferdinand was leaning his head out of the open window (which he had to crank open himself, of course, this car was a <em> relic </em>). Except for the music playing in Hubert’s left earbud and Ferdinand’s sparse directions, it was quiet.</p><p>Halfway there, it finally hit Hubert that he was going to Ferdinand’s <em> house. </em> Ferdinand— his nemesis, his rival, the self-centered rich boy with an inflated sense of ego. And they would be <em> alone. </em> If only he didn’t hate Ferdinand’s guts, the gay part of his mind would be racing with indecent possibilities.</p><p>Admittedly, he <em> had </em> indulged himself in thinking about such possibilities before, but never really about Ferdinand. He was attractive but in a rich asshole-y way, which Hubert didn’t think was his type. And although he would <em> never </em> disclose this to <em> anyone </em>— </p><p>Nope. He couldn’t even begin to think about Ferdinand like that, not with him so close.</p><p>The sight of Ferdinand’s neighborhood stirred a repugnant feeling in Hubert’s stomach. It was gated, with decadent, luxurious houses beyond pools and fountains of water. Each house had a backyard that was twice the size of the house itself, and every tree, shrub, and blade of grass was perfectly manicured.</p><p>Hubert punched in the code for the gate with such ferocity that he thought he might break the keypad.</p><p>“We moved here a few years ago,” Ferdinand explained, though Hubert hadn’t asked for any. “My dad wanted to be closer to his job and to live in a nicer place.”</p><p>“Your dad works at the Hresvelg law firm, right?”</p><p>Ferdinand’s eyes widened. “How did you know? Oh, and take a left at this stop sign.”</p><p>“Mine does, too.”</p><p>“Huh. I don’t know why I didn’t know that. It’s this white house up on the right with no cars in the driveway.”</p><p>Hubert pulled up to the house and turned off the car, grabbing his backpack from the back seat wordlessly. He didn’t want to talk about his dad, or the stupid, corrupt law firm, or how Ferdinand’s neighborhood was so amazing and wonderful and polished and extravagant. He let Ferdinand lead him into the house, unlocking the front door with a keypad code.</p><p>His house was worse on the inside. Every single thing was neatly placed, as if carefully calculated— from the armoires that sat proud against the walls to the chairs at the fancy dining table to the china in the glass cabinets to the fucking <em> pillows </em>on the faux leather couch. All of it looked perfectly untouched, as if no people lived there at all.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” Ferdinand asked, opening the fridge when they passed through the kitchen.</p><p>“What do you have, six cuts of filet mignon and wine aged for a decade?” Hubert scoffed.</p><p>Ferdinand’s eyebrows furrowed; Hubert couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “We— I have normal food, too…”</p><p>“I don’t need anything,” Hubert dismissed, despite his stomach telling him otherwise. He figured he would stop for fast food on the way home. It probably wouldn’t be as healthy as what Ferdinand had in his house, but he didn’t want to stay here longer than he needed. “Anyway, how can I be sure you haven’t poisoned it?”</p><p>“Um…” Ferdinand’s mouth hung open slightly.<em> Was he nervous to have Hubert over, or did he miss the obvious sarcasm? </em></p><p>Hubert sighed. “It’s called a <em> joke </em>?”</p><p>“I understood!” Ferdinand huffed. He pulled out a tupperware container of salad for himself and shut the fridge, his face red. “I just— I don’t like having you in my house, judging me.”</p><p>“Oh, I won’t judge you. I’ll judge your affluent lifestyle instead.”</p><p>“But if your dad works with mine, then doesn’t that mean this shouldn’t be out of the ordinary for you? Or does your family like to live rather simply?”</p><p><em> No, it’s not that they aren’t extravagant… </em> Hubert thought. <em> They would just rather spend their money on fueling their alcoholism than on their own child. </em></p><p>He shrugged. “I have my own job. Does that tell you what you need to know?”</p><p>“I guess that explains the car,” Ferdinand wondered aloud as he pulled a fork from a drawer somewhere. “So you bought it yourself?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t your parents buy you a nicer one?”</p><p>“They didn’t buy it.”</p><p>“...Did you steal it?”</p><p>Hubert resisted the urge to punch him, even though he could’ve gotten away with it. They were alone, after all.</p><p>“<em> No, you ass. </em>” He clenched his fists. “It was a gift.”</p><p>“‘It’s called a <em> joke’ </em>,” Ferdinand mocked, imitating what Hubert had said a minute ago. He shook his head. “Who gave it to you?”</p><p>“Why are you asking me so many questions? We’re supposed to be finishing the project.”</p><p>“I’m <em> trying </em> to hold a conversation, Hubert.” Ferdinand stuffed lettuce into his mouth. “Let me finish eating, then we can go upstairs.”</p><p>Hubert stood in the kitchen awkwardly, pulling out his phone. He texted Edelgard about how uncomfortable he was and how stupid Ferdinand was and how he hated being here in his pretentious, rich house and that he almost wished he was at home.</p><p>She responded with <em> lol </em> . A few seconds later she added <em> remember to be nice! </em>.</p><p><em> Ugh. </em> He hated it when she had to be reasonable. She should really learn to let Hubert complain sometimes.</p><p>Ferdinand tossed the now-empty container into the sink and led Hubert upstairs. Despite accommodating only three people, Hubert realized that the house must be huge— bigger than his own. There was a study space outside of Ferdinand’s room, another room and bathroom entirely, and even one of those fancy movie theater-like rooms. Ferdinand set his backpack on the desk in the study, rolling out the poster that they had only just started in class a few days ago.</p><p>Hubert set his backpack down too. “I probably already know the answer to this, but do you just want to use the SparkNotes for this?” He pointed at the book.</p><p>“That’s cheating, Hubert!”</p><p>“I guarantee you everyone else will be doing it. How else are we supposed to come up with three different themes and motifs? I hardly even know what a motif is.”</p><p>“I refuse to jeopardize my grade. And it’s a symbol that’s repeated multiple times throughout the book.”</p><p>“Okay, how am I supposed to know the motifs when I haven’t finished it?”</p><p>Ferdinand turned to him, his mouth set in a straight line. “You didn’t finish it?”</p><p>“I hardly have time to read outside of class. I told you that I work.”</p><p>“How far did you get?”</p><p>“A little less than three quarters, I think.”</p><p>Ferdinand handed him the book. “Finish it now. It’s short, so it would only take another hour or so. I can go practice my violin while you do that…”</p><p>“<em> Finish it? </em>I don’t want to be here longer than I have to. I told you, SparkNotes will work just fine for any information you’re unsure of, and we don’t have to copy it.” Hubert slid the book to the other side of the desk.</p><p>Ferdinand slid it back. “I agreed to this project on the terms that you would be helpful, unlike anyone else in the class. I thought you’d hold your end. Maybe I was wrong to start thinking that you could actually be a decent person.” His words were punctuated with anger.</p><p>“I know what I’m doing, Ferdinand. Do you know how many assignments I’ve bullshitted through the power of SparkNotes and being able to make it sound like I know what I’m talking about without any outside resources? Trust me, if I didn’t know how to do that, I would’ve gotten caught a long time ago.” <em> Why couldn’t he just accept this? </em></p><p>“This isn’t about the grade anymore! I was prepared to do this entire project on my own in the first place. This is about your lack of respect for our agreement. We <em> agreed </em> that we would make a better group because we would both actually do our work. Now here you are, standing at my house the day before this fucking project is due, saying you didn’t do it.”</p><p>Hubert didn’t think he had ever heard Ferdinand cuss. “I did enough of my work to be able to do this project!”</p><p>“To your standards, maybe. But you’re forgetting that there’s a whole other person whose grade depends on this. It’s cruel of you to disregard that when you know how I’d feel about it.” He shook his head.</p><p>“My standards would get us an easy one hundred without having to go absolutely above and beyond.” Hubert pulled the project rubric out from the depths of his backpack and handed it to Ferdinand. “If you read this, you’ll see that getting everything for a one hundred is easy— we just need to have everything neatly on the poster with a couple pictures.”</p><p>“This isn’t about the grade!” Ferdinand grabbed the paper from Hubert, ripping it in half in the process. “Can’t you listen?”</p><p>“But the grade is ultimately the problem here! You asked me to be in your group because you didn’t want your grade to suffer at the hands of strangers. I did more work than any other potential group members would have, and you’re complaining?”</p><p>Ferdinand grabbed Hubert by his shirt collar, his fist clenched in the fabric. Their faces stood only a few inches apart. Frustration etched itself into the lines of Ferdinand’s expression.</p><p>“I agreed to this only because I thought you’d do the work. We <em> agreed </em>to this,” he growled, his breath hot on Hubert’s face.</p><p>Hubert pushed him away. “If I recall correctly, we didn’t fucking agree to anything. All we said was that you wouldn’t do it alone and I would come to your house and help you.”</p><p>“But how can you help if you didn’t finish the book?!”</p><p>Hubert slammed his palm on the desk. “I <em> told </em>you! I know enough about the book to finish this!” His voice was deeper than normal; it sounded almost as if he was yelling at his father. “Now let’s get this project over with. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”</p><p>“You’ll stay here as long as it takes to finish this, even if it’s until the morning.”</p><p>“Then let’s start. I hate it here. Every piece of furniture radiates the same smug aura that you have. Every minute I’m here it’s as if you’re screaming that you and your family are better than me in every way. ‘Look at the von Aegirs, in their huge house with a yard that could fit two more houses, with perfectly trimmed hedges, with a swimming pool, everything in the house neatly placed as if untouched. Look at the perfect little family, with the most perfect teenager who always wears dress shirts to fucking high school, who’s one of the best violins at Garreg Mach, who’s rank seven in the class with a similarly high GPA, who <em> isn’t </em> a complete and utter disappointment.’” Hubert was shaking. “I hate it here. I hate you.”</p><p>“What do <em> you </em> know about me?” Ferdinand’s jaw clenched. <em> Here it comes, </em>Hubert thought. “I don’t have a perfect life. I’m never good enough for them. I can’t ever beat Edelgard.”</p><p>“Who <em> cares </em> if you can’t beat her? And what’s the worst that will happen? Your parents will be upset? Someday you have to learn, Ferdinand, that there’s much, <em> much </em> worse a parent could do to their child.”</p><p>Hubert felt the purple bruise on his thigh, warm. The scars and memories of the cuts scattered on his cheeks burned. The burns stung. His body ached.</p><p>“Just because there’s worse things doesn’t mean that my problems are invalidated. I don’t care about whatever you’ve been through. Frankly, I don’t even pity you. I’m sure someone like you deserves it.”</p><p>“That’s it.” Hubert zipped up his backpack, slinging it around his shoulder. He grabbed his car keys. “If you’re going to say shit like that, then I’m leaving. It’s obvious you don’t want me here either.”</p><p>Ferdinand reached out, the anger in his eyes disappearing. “No, I— Hubert—”</p><p>“Why would you say something like that? Are you that much of a spoiled brat? Are you that self-centered?”</p><p>He covered his mouth. “No, I— I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking— please forgive me.”</p><p>“And you call me cruel for not finishing a book? How hypocritical can you be?”</p><p>“I’m sorry!” He put his head in his hands. “I wasn’t thinking at all. This got to my head… I’m so sorry. I feel like a huge asshole.”</p><p>“That’s because you are. Now let’s finish this stupid fucking project before we actually do kill each other.”</p><p>
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</p><p>That night, after Ferdinand’s foolishness and an encounter with his dad and subsequently bandaging himself, Hubert lay in his bed.</p><p>He stared at the darkness. Music resounded in his ears. He was feeling trapped again.</p><p>His limbs felt heavy, but he checked the time. <em> 12:19. </em> He called Edelgard.</p><p>She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” she asked groggily.</p><p>“Oh, hey. Are you sleeping?”</p><p>“Yeah… do you need something?”</p><p>“I wanted to talk.”</p><p>“Hm. One second…”</p><p>Hubert waited a minute. When he heard soft snores, he woke her up.</p><p>“Ah, sorry.” There was a rustling on the other end. “Okay, I’m up now. What do you need again?”</p><p>“I just wanted to talk to you.”</p><p>“Are you just now in bed? Did something happen? Was everything okay with Ferdinand today?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, and absolutely not.”</p><p>“What’d they do?”</p><p>“Well, my dad was being his usual piece of shit self. He cut my hands, but I’ve got bandages on them. I’ll be fine. Ferdinand was abnormally a piece of shit, though.”</p><p>She sighed. “I’m sure he wasn’t that bad.”</p><p>“No, he was <em> bad </em>. We got into an argument because I had only read three quarters of the book.”</p><p>“I mean, you know how he is, always worrying about grades. I’m glad I have the other teacher. That project sounded annoying.”</p><p>“Yeah. He wanted me to finish the rest of the book, though, and I told him that the knowledge I had and SparkNotes would be enough to do my part. He got really angry and said it was cheating.”</p><p>“SparkNotes? I would’ve used it, too. But he’s weird like that.”</p><p>“Then he got angry because I ‘didn’t follow up on our agreement’ or whatever, and I was like ‘what agreement?’ and ‘this project is so easy to get a hundred on anyway’ but he was like ‘it’s not about the grade!’ and I said something like ‘well let’s just get this over with because I hate it here in your perfect house and I hate you’—”</p><p>“That was a little much, Hubert.”</p><p>“I <em> know </em> but you should have seen his house. First of all, you should have seen his neighborhood. It’s for rich people who care about their self-images to a vain degree. Every house has giant yards and is huge and everything is so neatly trimmed and polished. It made me disgusted. And his house was no different, and even the furniture inside was perfectly placed, and there was nothing extra lying around— it was like no one even <em> lived </em>there. I hated it.”</p><p>“Sounds annoying, I guess.”</p><p>“Anyway, so I told him I hated his perfect life or whatever and he was like ‘my life’s not perfect I disappoint my parents’ and I was like ‘there’s much worse a parent can do to their kid’ and after that he said he didn’t care about whatever I had gone through and that I probably deserved it.” Hubert huffed, out of breath from saying so much so quickly.</p><p>“...Ouch. That was a huge dick move,” Edelgard agreed.</p><p>“Edelgard. I’ve seen so many dicks over the years and he’s still the biggest one.”</p><p>She laughed. “Hubert! I know you have, but I didn’t need you to admit it!”</p><p>“Sorry. My point is that it was extremely rude of him to say that.”</p><p>“Did you tell him?”</p><p>“What, that it was rude of him? Of course.”</p><p>“No, did you tell him about your family?”</p><p>“Oh… no, I haven’t.”</p><p>“Hm… how did he react when you called him out for it?”</p><p>“He became extremely apologetic. Then we finished the project, hardly talking at all.”</p><p>“Well, that’s good. At least he had remorse, even if what he said was insensitive. Though, it might be fair to let him have an idea of what you’ve been through.”</p><p>“He doesn’t deserve to know. I don’t want his fake pity, anyway.”</p><p>“Hm… well, how do I put this? At least he would have an idea of it, so he wouldn’t be left wondering what might have happened to you? That way he could make up for it effectively? I don’t know.”</p><p>“Maybe, but I’m not telling him anything now. Hell, I don’t even want to talk to him at all anymore.”</p><p>“That’s fair for now. I think he’s mature enough to come to his senses and truly apologize, though, so try to at least be willing to accept it.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”</p><p>“I promise he’s not a bad guy. I think he can just be stupid and somewhat self-centered sometimes.”</p><p>“Curse you for having to use reason. What if I wanted to convince myself to hate him forever?”</p><p>She chuckled. “Well, I’ll be your voice of reason on this, just like you’re my voice of reason on many of my problems. Will you be okay now if I go back to sleep?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s fine. Goodnight, see you in the morning.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Hubert.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>That night, Hubert couldn’t sleep.</p><p>He was thinking about too many things all at once— about his father, about Ferdinand, about Ferdinand’s family, about school, about the pop punk music that roared through his earbuds.</p><p>So much pop punk music spoke of love and of heartbreak, of anger and of rebellion. It was almost too much for him to handle that night.</p><p>
  <em> Love, huh? </em>
</p><p>Hubert would be damned if he ever felt it at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: ferdinand's victory.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stockholm Syndrome</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a conversation and a realization.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so in between the last chapter and this one, my friend started a crack parody of this fic and, uh... PLEASE go read it, it's amazing. <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605763/chapters/62149687">you can find it here!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night, Ferdinand couldn’t sleep either.</p><p>His house was too big to only be filled by one. It was too empty for him to be alone.</p><p>He sat on his bed, huddled beneath blankets, like a child transfixed because of a menacing shadow in the corner or a noise imagined. But this time, the ghosts that haunted him weren’t a figment of his imagination.</p><p>If Ferdinand closed his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the words from that afternoon as if they echoed perpetually in the creepy house— as if they now haunted the space where they were released. He could hear Hubert yelling, he could see Hubert’s anger, and he could see the hurt in his eyes when he lashed out. He could feel the tension that lingered in the space between them as they finished the project. He could sense the remnants of that afternoon still plaguing his home.</p><p>He buried his head in his hands, running his fingers across his scalp. <em> Why did he have to get so heated? </em> He still felt like the biggest asshole ever, but the words had slipped out of his mouth before he was able to process them— in the heat of the moment, with anger clouding his judgement. And, worst of all, it had sounded like something his dad would say.</p><p>“Am I becoming him…?” he whispered into the folds of blankets, which were the only protection between him and the lingering spirits of the argument.</p><p>Ferdinand imagined his father— gluttonous, boisterous, and proud to the highest degree. He remembered the promotion scheme from a few years ago, and even though he didn’t understand a lot that had happened (except that they became very rich very fast and moved into this much nicer neighborhood), he was beginning to realize what exactly the scheme might have entailed.</p><p>When his father mentioned Edelgard at dinner all the way back on the first night of freshman year, Ferdinand was almost too occupied with orchestra, with his never ending competition, to listen. But now, thinking about it, and about what Hubert had said back in the fine arts hallway a year ago… </p><p>And then there was Hubert’s old, decrepit car, given to him as a gift. He didn’t answer when Ferdinand asked who gave it to him, so his only guesses were that it was a gift from someone he didn’t know, like an extended family member, or from Edelgard. And if it was from Edelgard, and if her father had lost lots of money in the promotion scheme a few years ago, then…</p><p>Everything, eerily, was starting to make sense.</p><p>So now, not only would Ferdinand have to apologize to Hubert for being a massive asshole, but he would also have to atone for what his father probably did to Edelgard’s family. <em> Were all friendships this hard? Why couldn’t he just go on competing with Edelgard and being enemies with Hubert without any problems? Why did… </em> feelings <em> have to make all of this so complicated? </em></p><p>Ferdinand thought a lot, that night.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The next day, Hubert wouldn’t talk to him at all.</p><p>In Physics he showed no outward hatred, but when Ferdinand tried to whisper apologies to him during their lab, he ignored him. He wouldn’t even coordinate with him to finish the lab, instead talking to the other group members as a sort of mediation. After class, he gathered his things and walked out of the room before Ferdinand could catch up, the swarm of students in the hallway as a protection against him.</p><p>In English, they thankfully didn’t have to present the project— if they did, it would surely tank their grade. He pulled the poster out of his backpack and turned it in, then took the seat across from Hubert. He wouldn’t meet Ferdinand’s eyes, even if the entire class period was filled with their teacher’s monotonous lecture about the book.</p><p>And in orchestra, Hubert wouldn’t cross the classroom to talk to Edelgard today. He stayed in the bass section for the entire class, but occasionally Ferdinand would watch him text something, and next to him Edelgard would reply. He felt so awkward sitting beside her, like he was a stranger in his own body, not knowing how to conduct it in a way that <em> wouldn’t </em>be awkward. He almost wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know what to say other than ‘tell Hubert I’m sorry’, and he didn’t know how she would react. Would she be angry at him? Would she appreciate his apology? Did she think Hubert was overreacting? Maybe he was just overthinking it, but Edelgard seemed to become an enigma that he couldn’t solve.</p><p>Edelgard, however, spoke to him first. “You look on edge today,” she noted in a low voice when the director was making the violas practice their part of the song.</p><p>“I’m sure you know why.” He pulled on his shirt cuff.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Have you apologized to him yet?”</p><p>“Believe me, I’ve tried.” He sighed. “He won’t listen to me. He won’t even acknowledge my presence.”</p><p>She nodded. “Well, I’ll be honest with you— it was absolutely a dick move. I wish I could explain why, but I’ll leave that to Hubert. It’s his life, after all.”</p><p>“I <em> know </em>. I’ve been beating myself up for it ever since.”</p><p>“I figured you would. But, tell me, what do you know about Hubert?”</p><p>Ferdinand watched the director conduct. “He seems to like punk things. He thinks my competitions with you are worthless. He…” <em> Did Edelgard know about the encounter in the hallway last year? </em>“He thinks my problems are nothing compared to yours and his, but he’s always been vague about what that meant. He thinks my life is perfect when it’s far from it.”</p><p>“Hm.” Edelgard thought for a moment. “And what’s your life like?”</p><p>“I…” Ferdinand paused. “I didn’t think I’d be having such a deep conversation with you in the middle of orchestra.”</p><p>She smiled. “If you’re not comfortable having it here, we could always talk about it another time. Besides, I think we’re going to have to play again soon…” She looked at the director.</p><p>“Another time? I hardly see you during the day.”</p><p>“We <em> do </em> have houses. And there’s always the time before rehearsals start after school, we could sneak away to an empty area of the school.</p><p>“M—me? Go to your house?”</p><p>“It’s not such a big deal. It’s also something I’m…” she gestured, trying to find the right words. “Well, I don’t know how to say this. I just think that the friendship we three have isn’t something that should be thrown away over one hot-headed comment, even if you were entirely the asshole. I’ve always appreciated your competition, and I think even Hubert finds joy in the rivalry on occasion— even if he ‘hated’ you, he was kind of warming up to you? It sounds weird, I know, but Hubert is weird like that.”</p><p>Edelgard looked like she had more to say, but the director turned to the whole orchestra to continue practicing the piece. “We’ll find time to talk later.” She raised her violin to her chin.</p><p>
  <em> The friendship we three have… </em>
</p><p>Ferdinand hadn’t thought of it like that.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>At lunch, Ferdinand was annoyed when Hubert didn’t show up.</p><p>He watched the crowds of people move about the cafeteria with a sharper eye than normal, but he didn’t see Hubert emerge from the lunch line with his usual tray of cheap, tasteless food. He picked up his phone, staring at Edelgard’s contact information that reflected back at him. She had given him her number last class period to set up a time when they could hang out, but he was almost too nervous to contact her for any reason.</p><p>First of all, Edelgard was completely out of his league. Not in a dating sense— he had never thought about her in that way— but in a platonic sense. Why <em> would </em> she want to be friends with him? Why <em> would </em> she want to have this stupid rivalry that Ferdinand instituted back when he was a stupid freshman?</p><p>But more importantly, there was the issue of his parents. If they saw that he had been texting a girl, the teasing would never end, regardless of whatever Ferdinand’s true feelings happened to be. And, worse than that, if they knew it was Edelgard, they would lecture him until dawn about being superior and that the Hresvelg name is dying and all the shit about orchestra and the law firm and…</p><p>
  <em> They just wouldn’t have to know. </em>
</p><p>As influential as his parents were, Ferdinand knew what was best for himself— and that was cultivating the only real friendships he had so far in high school. It was kind of sad to think that Edelgard and Hubert happened to be his only close friends, but he simply didn’t have the time for people outside of orchestra.</p><p>It was a crushing realization that Ferdinand didn’t think he would be having in the middle of the high school cafeteria, alone yet surrounded by a thousand faceless people. Between his homework, his music, and whatever else he managed to slot into his schedule, he had no real <em> time </em> for friends. Sure, he had made acquaintances with people among all of his classes, but during the shift to sophomore year he had fallen out of contact with them. Edelgard and Hubert were truly the only people he would bother to talk to for the sake of his stupid competitions. Was that even the basis for a friendship? How could he even call what he had with Hubert a ‘friendship’? How could Edelgard?</p><p>How could he bear this oppressive loneliness?</p><p>Ferdinand texted Edelgard <em> Hey </em>.</p><p>Edelgard replied within a minute. <em> you texted soon, </em> she pointed out.</p><p><em> Yeah. I wanted to tell you that Hubert’s not at lunch today, </em> Ferdinand typed.</p><p>
  <em> he told me he’s in the library. he wants some space from you. </em>
</p><p><em> Well, that makes sense, </em> Ferdinand sent. He took a bite of his sandwich. <em> Why are you replying so fast, what class are you in? </em></p><p>
  <em> compsci. i already finished my work for the week so i don’t have anything to do but text you and hubert. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That sounds like something you would do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> it’s super easy, you could do it too. is that all you wanted to tell me? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I guess. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> are you upset? </em>
</p><p><em> I don’t know! </em> Ferdinand felt his face flush. <em> I feel like a jerk. I know you already know that. But he was kind of being a jerk yesterday too. </em></p><p>
  <em> i think he was a little inconsiderate of you, but you were the one who took it too far. try not to worry about it for now, and we could hang out and talk about it tonight if you wanted? at my place? </em>
</p><p>At Edelgard’s place? He was planning on taking the bus home after school and having a relaxing Friday since his parents were out of town, but this <em> would </em> be the only opportunity to meet with Edelgard for the foreseeable future. And if he could learn to cultivate the seedlings of friendship that were being presented to him, maybe the loneliness that suffocated him would begin to disperse.</p><p><em> I would need a ride but I think I could come, </em>he texted.</p><p>
  <em>normally hubert is my ride home…</em>
</p><p>Ferdinand glanced at the empty seat in front of him. <em> I don’t think he would want to be around me any longer than he has to. </em></p><p>
  <em> yeah. my dad could pick us up after school, ill let hubert know he doesnt need to wait for me. see ya then, ferdie! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ferdie?! </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“What, you’re surprised about the nickname?” Edelgard asked as the two made their way to her father’s car that afternoon.</p><p>The rest of the day passed uneventfully, though it was to be expected since Ferdinand didn’t have any other classes with Edelgard or Hubert. In each of his afternoon classes, however, he thought a lot about the loneliness that had crept up on him so suddenly. He clutched his violin case in one hand and his backpack strap in the other.</p><p>“I didn’t think it was like you to give nicknames,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to the student parking lot behind them, his eyes darting between the crowds of students walking to their or their parent’s car. <em> Was Hubert there? Was he watching them? </em> Ferdinand couldn’t see. “Besides, a girl in my English class last year called me that, so…”</p><p>“Oh, you had English with Dorothea? I talk to her all the time in my English class this year. We talk a lot about you.”</p><p>Ferdinand blushed. “About <em> me? </em>”</p><p>She laughed. “Just kidding, we only talk a normal amount about you.”</p><p>“You’re still being mysterious,” he sighed.</p><p>“Aren’t I always?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he admitted, thinking about later that evening. Edelgard went through all the trouble of getting her dad to pick them up, just to continue the conversation they had started earlier— and she would probably be just as mysterious throughout it. He was certain that she wouldn’t tell him anything about Hubert or about herself— at least, anything that wasn’t cryptic advice for how to handle his and Hubert’s failing friendship. It was quite possible that Ferdinand would leave her house with more questions than he had before.</p><p>After the initial, long line of cars had left, Edelgard opened the back door of a black SUV and motioned him inside. He squeezed into the back seat, setting his backpack and instrument on the other side; Edelgard pushed hers into the back and climbed into the front seat. Ferdinand’s stomach twisted when he got a glimpse at Edelgard’s father. He couldn’t have been older than sixty, but it seemed as though he was pushing into his seventies. His hair was pure white like Edelgard’s, however his was the result of stress and old age rather than hair dye. At best, Ferdinand would describe his appearance as sickly.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Ferdinand,” he greeted. “Edelgard here has told me a lot about you.”</p><p>“Do you always talk about me to everyone?” Ferdinand asked Edelgard, eliciting a laugh from her. His throat and hands felt dry.</p><p>“How could I not mention our orchestra rivalry?”</p><p>Her father paused for a second. “Of course. From what I have seen from your concerts, you seem very talented at the violin, Ferdinand.” he said.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ferdinand mumbled in reply, trying to will away the anxiety that accompanied meeting a friend’s parent for the first time. Except this was worse, since it was <em> Edelgard’s </em> parents— both his rival, and a target for pity from his family.</p><p>“Of course, Edelgard is talented as well. However, I really should thank you for continuing to push her to become better.” They left the school and turned right— the opposite way from Ferdinand’s neighborhood. He wondered where they lived.</p><p>“Oh, you’re welcome,” he replied, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. He hoped that he had concealed the edge of anxiety to his voice. “I’ll always strive to become the best violin at Garreg Mach.”</p><p>“<em> Strive </em>, not become,” Edelgard noted with confidence.</p><p>Her competitive comment garnered a smile from her father and Ferdinand, although the car was thrust into an awkward silence for the remainder of the drive. He watched as they took turns down roads on which he had never been.</p><p>A sinking feeling snaked its way through Ferdinand’s chest as they turned into a neighborhood— well, he didn’t know if he would even call it that. At best, it was just a collection of deteriorating houses on a couple streets, most of which with overgrown lawns and decaying exteriors. He wrung his hands on the folds of his pants, thinking too much all at once about what Hubert had said a year ago and about the guilt that had settled in his chest the night before.</p><p>Edelgard’s father pulled into a driveway of a small, one story house in this declining neighborhood. It seemed to be more well-kept than its neighbors— the grass had been mowed recently, the flowerbeds in the front were void of weeds, even if the flowers themselves weren’t in bloom, and the exterior of the house was brighter than those around it.</p><p>“We’re home,” Edelgard’s father said as he turned off the car. “Feel free to make yourself at home, Ferdinand, and you two have fun.”</p><p>Edelgard grabbed her things out of the backseat and coaxed Ferdinand out as well, who was nervous to go first. He followed her into the house.</p><p>The first thing he noticed— it was cramped. The living room fit a small couch, two chairs, an old TV, multiple mismatched side tables, and their respective furnishings. A tiny room to the side of the front door fit a desk with a computer and a couple of framed photos. More lined the walls, showing not only Edelgard and her father but also a woman he assumed was her mom and at least ten other kids he didn’t recognize.</p><p>“It’s small, but we’re the only ones who live here,” she commented, motioning for Ferdinand to follow down a hallway off the kitchen. “My room is this way.”</p><p>He took clunky steps to Edelgard’s room, taking in every picture and piece of furniture and everything about her home. Her room was the same size as the house, however the walls were painted red, one covered with band posters. A corkboard hung above her desk, with pictures of her and Hubert pinned amongst medals and ribbons from various competitions throughout her life. Black curtains covered the window, making the already-minute room appear to be much smaller.</p><p>Edelgard dropped her backpack and instrument off at the foot of her desk and sat on the bed. Ferdinand sat in the desk chair, too uncomfortable to sit next to her. Instead, he looked at the pictures of her and Hubert— a couple were even from when they were little kids. <em> So they </em> have <em> known each other for a long time? </em></p><p>She had pulled a sleek laptop from her backpack and opened it as she settled on her bed. “So, do you want to find a show or movie to watch, or something?” she asked, pointing to the dark Netflix website on the screen.</p><p>“Watch something? I thought we were just going to talk?” Ferdinand said, feeling his face heat up. Here he was, alone with a girl in her room. If his parents found out, he really <em>wouldn’t</em> <em>ever </em>hear the end of it.</p><p>Edelgard shrugged. “That’s just what I normally do when I hang out with people. Hubert either likes to play games or practice our instruments, Dorothea watches movies with me, et cetera.”</p><p>“Oh,” he mumbled. “I think it’s been a while since I’ve hung out with anyone…”</p><p>“Really? I would have assumed you would be more popular.”</p><p>“In middle school, my parents wouldn’t let me go to friend’s houses at all, and if I offered my house, they would come up with excuses. And, of course, they would always tell me that I could be studying or practicing instead.”</p><p>“How’d you get their permission now?”</p><p>“I didn’t. They’re out of town.”</p><p>Edelgard nodded. “Right, I think Hubert mentioned that. I was wondering what they had thought of him…”</p><p>“I’m sure they wouldn’t have approved,” Ferdinand muttered.</p><p>“Well, do you want to do something today? There’s a movie I think you might like, or we could try to play video games on my old Xbox. Or we could always practice together.”</p><p>“I think I’ll pass on practicing,” he said with a small laugh. “When my parents are out of town, it’s the only reprieve I have.” </p><p>“I thought you wanted to surpass me?”</p><p>“All of my progress would be cancelled out if we practiced at the same time,” he sighed.</p><p>“Oh well. To think that I was going to give you some secrets I knew that would make you a better musician...” she said, sounding resigned. Ferdinand frowned and crossed his arms.</p><p>“I could surpass you without them.”</p><p>Edelgard laughed. “We’ll see about that.” She pointed to her laptop. “Do you want to watch something?”</p><p>“I’m not sure… What games do you have?”</p><p>“There’s an old Xbox 360 in the living room. We have a couple Call of Duty games if you want to try them.”</p><p>“I think I used to have those. My aunt gave those games to me for my birthday one year, and my parents took them away after they saw how violent they were.”</p><p>“A little bit of violence in a video game won’t hurt you.” She stood from her bed, setting her laptop aside. “Come on, let’s try it.”</p><p>Ferdinand followed Edelgard to the living room, hesitant. But if he was already breaking one rule by being unsupervised in a girl’s house without permission, what was one more? He took a careful seat on the couch as she turned on the console, dug some controllers out from the cabinet, and settled on the couch next to him.</p><p>“This button is to aim, and this one is to fire. Reload by pressing this. Move around and look around with these,” she instructed, pointing to buttons on the controller. “Would you want to play a normal match with bots or try a round of Zombies?”</p><p>“A normal match is fine,” Ferdinand shuddered.</p><p>“Are you <em> scared </em>?”</p><p>“No! I just don’t know anything about Zombies, that’s all...”</p><p>“Don’t worry. I was scared of them too when I first played,” Edelgard admitted as she was setting up a match for them. “My older brothers had to tell me what to do.”</p><p>“You have siblings?” he asked, glancing at the pictures that adorned the house’s walls. Most of them were of Edelgard, but one over the tiny electric fireplace had an entire family’s worth of people.</p><p>“Yeah. At least, I used to.” She grabbed Ferdinand’s controller, choosing the guns for him, then put it back in his hands as she started the match. “My family split up a while ago. Some of them went with my mom, and some went with me to my uncle’s house. I was the only one who was able to return to my dad.” Her face was unreadable— Ferdinand found no distinct emotion lingering in her eyes. Her mouth was set into a straight line.</p><p>“Do you miss them?” he asked as the match began. He almost didn’t notice, and he fumbled around, trying to get a hang of the controls.</p><p>“I do,” she said, already scoring her first kill near the middle of the map while Ferdinand was stuck at the spawn point. “But I’m not sure if we would have been able to keep any of them. Most are in college or beyond at this point, and the younger ones are in my extended family’s custody. We even lost contact with some of them.”</p><p>One of the bot players had already made its way to Ferdinand and killed him before he could see it. “You lived with your uncle at one point?”</p><p>Edelgard managed to take out another handful of bots before they fired back with her first death of the match. “Yeah. He lives farther away, but works at the same firm as my dad. When my parents split, it was pretty ugly. He was my mom’s brother, so he worked against my dad, trying to keep him from winning custody.”</p><p>“How’d you get back to your dad?” Ferdinand asked, finally getting his first kill.</p><p>“Funnily enough, it was Hubert. He found evidence that the original argument against my dad was fabricated, and he documented more evidence which would prove my uncle unfit as a guardian.”</p><p><em> Hubert, huh? </em> Ferdinand thought as he fell into the groove of the game.</p><p>He had seemed like such an ass the day before— agreeing to work hard to finish the project, but showing up to his house the night before with his end of the deal broken. Hell, he had <em> always </em> been an ass to Ferdinand, ever since the first day of freshman year. He remembered Hubert challenging him for Edelgard’s sake, mocking him for losing first chair and the class president election, and even ignoring him for half of their first concert. It was hard to believe that the Hubert he had known was the same Hubert who reunited Edelgard with her father.</p><p>Ferdinand longed to ask more about Edelgard’s uncle, but she had a tense look in her eyes. Her fingers mashed the buttons harder than when the match first began. <em> Was it because of the game itself, or the mention of her past? </em></p><p>“I’m glad you were able to return to your dad. It seems like he really cares about you,” Ferdinand said. He got a kill before another bot shot him. “But I’m surprised Hubert would do that.”</p><p>She smiled; her expression softened. “You might not agree, but he really is a great friend. I was glad when you two were beginning to get along.”</p><p>“He must hate me now.”</p><p>“Yeah, kind of. How do you feel?”</p><p>“I... don’t know,” Ferdinand sighed. His thoughts were already scrambled enough, but playing a video game (and trying to beat Edelgard at said game which he had never played) at the same time just turned his mind into mush. “I feel conflicted, I guess. I was fine with the ‘relationship’ I had with Hubert before we fought. And even though I was objectively rude to him, he disregarded my feelings for the project. I don’t know if I could be ‘friends’ with him.”</p><p>“I’m not sure if my feelings have any weight in this conflict, but for what it’s worth, I’d like it if you two were friends. Even if that means just tolerating each other.”</p><p>“I want to know why he was rude to <em> me </em>in the first place. It wasn’t his business if I wanted to compete with you.”</p><p>Edelgard managed to score the final kill before the match timer ticked down to zero. Ferdinand had accepted defeat before the match had even started, but he was still disappointed to see that his deaths had vastly outnumbered his kills. She was the opposite.</p><p>“Yeah. Do you want to play another round?” she asked. Ferdinand shrugged. She started a new round anyway, this time with a different map.</p><p>“Do you know why Hubert’s like that?”</p><p>“I think he can be somewhat overprotective of me,” she admitted as the match started. “He’s also jealous of you at times. He doesn’t have the best family life either.”</p><p>“Well, what’s it like?” he asked, starting this match much better than the last, although he still probably wouldn’t get more kills than Edelgard.</p><p>She paused for a moment. “His parents aren’t the greatest. They can be… neglectful sometimes.”</p><p><em> Was neglectful worse than overbearing? </em> Ferdinand felt himself frown. That couldn’t have been all to Hubert’s life, but Edelgard’s expression was a tense one yet again, so he figured he shouldn’t push her further.</p><p>“If you didn’t catch on earlier, my parents aren’t great either. I don’t understand how someone could have such a close eye on you but be so distant at the same time.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Ferdinand’s chest tightened. “They… they’ve always constantly pushed me to become the best. When I was younger, it wasn’t as much of a problem. In middle school they definitely became more overbearing, but I was used to it. Now that I’m not the best in orchestra or number one in the class, they’ve become a lot worse.” He watched the screen of the TV as he died. “But they don’t know me outside of my grades and my music. I don’t know <em> me </em>.” When he respawned, he didn’t bother to move.</p><p>“Are they mad that I’m first chair and number one in our class?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ferdinand said as he took control of the game again. “Even more so, because of your family, I think. I still don’t know what happened between them.”</p><p>Edelgard tensed. She paused the game and set her controller down on the couch. “There’s a long history between our families, which also includes my uncle and Hubert’s family.” She ran her fingers through her hair. A couple white strands came out, brown at the roots. She shook them from her fingertips, falling onto the carpet below.</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry.”</p><p>“That’s okay. I wanted to talk about this, anyway.” She composed herself. “When I was in elementary school, your father, Hubert’s father, and my uncle planned to slip my father’s law firm from under him. Though your dad was pretty much just a figurehead, Hubert’s dad and my uncle were the ones who planned to reduce my father’s influence through a series of threats and pushing my mom to leave him with all of the children. With fabricated evidence and corrupt people on their side— any cops in the area, judges, and all sorts of criminals who they formed under-the-table deals with as criminal defense lawyers— they managed to take away my dad’s influence with his clients.”</p><p>Ferdinand laced his fingers together, feeling his heart drop. Edelgard presented a strong façade, trying to hide the emotions that laced every word she spoke and every line in her expression. Still, he could see the pain, clear. “I’m sorry,” was all he found in himself to say.</p><p>“I, and some of my other siblings, lived with my uncle during that time. I wasn’t allowed to contact Hubert, or any of my old friends or family.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All I remember is that one day, I was able to go back to my dad, after Hubert had helped him, of course. We had to move to this tiny house, since my mom won our old one in the divorce, and suddenly we didn’t have very much money at all. My dad spent his savings on divorce lawyer fees and securing a decent place to live. Now, he has practically no clients anymore and is hardly able to find work.”</p><p>“I… I’m sorry,” Ferdinand repeated, drinking in the entire story slowly. He thought that something like this had happened, but hearing it directly from Edelgard herself sounded so much <em> worse </em>. He hated to admit it, but what Hubert had said in the fine arts hallway a year ago was true. Ferdinand was able to bear his overbearing parents, but Edelgard couldn’t change the fact that her family and Hubert’s had thrust her life on a completely different path from such a young age. “And I thought my life was bad,” he muttered.</p><p>“It’s okay. There’s no use in us competing to see whose life is worse.”</p><p>“Do you know why they did that to you?”</p><p>Edelgard paused, drawing her eyes to the carpet of the living room. “They wanted what my family had, for one. But beyond that greed? I’m not exactly sure.” Her eyes seemed distant— years away, even. “Maybe because they’re twisted people.” She grabbed her controller, unpausing the match before Ferdinand was ready. He scrambled to follow, but still died before he could take control.</p><p>They played wordlessly for a minute. Well, what could Ferdinand say to even <em> follow </em> that confession? Edelgard just told him what seemed like her entire life story— what was there to say?</p><p>“But Hubert’s the one who’s always been there for me,” Edelgard admitted, unprompted. “We met in elementary school— or, no was it before then? But as far as I can remember, he was my friend. I don’t really remember much from my time with my uncle except the pervasive loneliness that accompanied me when I lost contact with him.” Her eyebrows were knit as she died, losing her killstreak. “I was beyond grateful when I was reunited with him and my father, even if my life changed completely. I think… that’s why I want you two to be friends.”</p><p>Ferdinand couldn’t help but admire Hubert slightly for what he had done for Edelgard, but he didn’t know if that meant a friendship was necessary. After all, they each had problems with their own egos— he felt like if he conceded now, he would be losing his pride somehow.</p><p>“I think I understand where you’re coming from,” Ferdinand said. “But what can I even do? Pretend like nothing happened yesterday? Apologize a million times? I’m not going to give up my pride for him.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” she answered. “And neither should he.” They both had killstreaks now.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” he groaned.</p><p>“You’ve already apologized for it, I’m sure. So I think that, in due time, Hubert will come to accept it even if he does so begrudgingly. It may take a long time for him to see his faults, though, but I assure you that someday he’ll own up to it and apologize.”</p><p>“So that’s it? I should just pretend everything’s fine?” he asked, almost getting killed— his screen was quickly turning red, but he managed to take out the enemy bot just in time.</p><p>“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen, but fixating on it and making yourself mad at him won’t do anything. So just do what you would normally do, and your relationship will become normal again with time.”</p><p>Ferdinand sighed. “That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”</p><p>“But it’s the answer I gave,” she laughed.</p><p>“Why do you always have to be so mysterious?”</p><p>Edelgard shrugged. “If anything, I thought I was being clear. Just act as you normally would. I’m sure you’ll have a chance sometime soon to return everything to normal.” She scored the final kill before the match ended again, this time with a grenade she threw into a building. Ferdinand almost felt disappointed, until he saw the final results screen.</p><p>“Hey, I got more kills than you!”</p><p>“But I died a lot less,” she countered. “That means my kill to death ratio is lower, which means <em> I </em>still won.”</p><p>Ferdinand almost threw the controller, but stopped when he realized it wasn’t his. Edelgard couldn’t resist laughing.</p><p>“We’re playing another round,” he declared.</p><p>“Fine,” she said, “but I won’t lose.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Ferdinand spent the whole weekend trying to decipher Edelgard’s words.</p><p>
  <em> I’m sure you’ll have a chance sometime soon to return everything to normal. </em>
</p><p>The first chair test wouldn’t be an opportunity to do anything except maybe beat Edelgard. With his private lessons, he was improving at a much quicker pace than the year before, but the gap between them still stretched as wide as ever. The first concert seemed to be a more likely opportunity— last year, he and Hubert always got along better during the concerts, to the point where they even complimented each other’s improvements at the last one. Maybe this concert could be the same, but something told him it would be like last year’s first concert, where Hubert ignored him for most of it. Or, maybe, Edelgard was planning something.</p><p><em> Ugh. </em> He set his violin on his bed, messing up the piece because of his thoughts. <em> Why was this so hard to figure out? Why couldn’t he just force himself to hate Hubert forever? </em></p><p>It was almost as if the competitive part of Ferdinand wouldn’t let him give up.</p><p>Today was Sunday, his parents had been home for a day, and it happened to be the two hours after dinner in which he should be practicing. He knew if he didn’t continue soon, someone would be up to gently remind him that he really should keep practicing if he wanted to make first chair this time, and that losing to Edelgard again would only be a disgrace. Today was Sunday, and for the past two days he had been thinking about what Edelgard had said yet failing to figure out what she had meant. His parents never realized that he had gone to her house, and they had yet to notice her number in his phone. Maybe it was a matter of time until they were controlling about that, too, but Ferdinand vowed to himself to keep it secret and not cause trouble for himself.</p><p>He felt the tremors of his room when someone was coming up the staircase, and he quickly returned to practicing. The footsteps left at the sound of his music.</p><p>This time, Ferdinand didn’t yield to his thoughts, and he finished the piece without a mistake.<em> He really should get around to recording himself practicing, </em> he thought. Even if it wouldn’t help him become better than Edelgard, it would provide him a much needed reprieve from his parents at times like this.</p><p>He played through the song again, glancing at his phone on his bed. <em> Should he text Edelgard? </em> If he did that, she would probably reply with something cryptic, or not reply at all. It might be better than nothing, though, since he didn’t have any ideas.</p><p>Ferdinand set his violin down again after messing up. He opened his phone, determined to record this next session to replay on occasion, but his fingers drifted to the messages app. He saw Edelgard’s name near the top, only below his parents. And after that was Hubert’s.</p><p>He had almost forgotten that he got Hubert’s number when the people at their Physics table had wanted to exchange phone numbers and create a group chat. Their texts were full of frequent Physics questions, since they didn’t bother to text in the group and scare off the normal people who knew nothing of their rivalry. They had even coordinated to finish that lab a couple weeks ago. The last thing that had been sent was Ferdinand’s address last Thursday for the English project.</p><p><em> Would it be normal for him to text? </em> No, absolutely not. Their conversations had been limited to school affairs only, and no matter what he sent, Hubert wouldn’t reply— that is, if he even bothered to read the message at all. Besides, Edelgard told him to act normal, and texting Hubert out of the blue would only scream <em> help, the real Ferdinand must have been abducted by an alien </em>.</p><p>He picked up his instrument again and thumbed over to the next song.</p><p>
  <em> Just do what you would normally do. </em>
</p><p>For now, that meant practicing.</p><p>
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</p><p>Later that week, things became more clear— kind of.</p><p>Ferdinand acted like nothing had happened in the first place, following Edelgard’s ‘advice’, despite the burning lance of guilt that pierced him whenever he thought about the events of the week prior. And, slowly, Hubert’s edge softened. Although he still wouldn’t talk to him, he wouldn’t lean away from him in Physics and he returned the mutual glares in English. He even took his seat back at the lunch table across from Ferdinand, as silent as ever.</p><p>In Physics one morning, the upcoming class officer elections were broadcasted over the announcements. Ferdinand perked up, trying to listen through the distinct chattering of his classmates. He felt Hubert’s eyes on him.</p><p>After thinking about last year’s elections for a whole year now, and about what Edelgard had said, Ferdinand decided that this time he wouldn’t run for president. Chances were, Dimitri would be running again to try to steal the spot from Edelgard, and between those two, there was no way he could win— he didn’t last year after all, and it wasn't like he had become more popular since then.</p><p>No, he wouldn’t run for president, even if it meant he was conceding this defeat to Edelgard. No— he could make up for it in other ways, in the remaining three years of his high school career.</p><p>This time, he would challenge someone else and run for class secretary.</p><p>He kept his plans hidden until the next week, when the students would meet in the library to declare their candidacy. Edelgard and Hubert were only slightly surprised to see him there.</p><p>They sat next to him at the library table. “You didn’t tell me you were running this year,” Edelgard mused, smirking. “Part of me hoped that you had given up.”</p><p>“Do you even know me?” Ferdinand asked. <em> She was right, at least partially. But should he break the news now? </em></p><p>“Well, word is that there’s even going to be another contender this year, so you might have even less of a chance.”</p><p>“For president?”</p><p>She nodded. “Do you see the guy over there, talking to all the juniors like it’s nothing? With the little braid in his hair? That’s Claude. He’s in my Algebra II class this year and he has a surprising amount of charm for being such a class clown. He doesn’t always do his work or have the best grades, but everyone loves him anyway. He’s also well known in theater, and he got a decent role in the school musical as a freshman last year.”</p><p>“Theater kids are another species of human entirely.” Ferdinand shuddered. “It’d be hard to win against him.”</p><p>“Are you rethinking your candidacy?”</p><p>“No,” he answered, and Hubert looked at him as if to say <em> you’re an idiot </em>. “In fact, I wasn’t thinking of running for class president to begin with. This year, I’m aiming for secretary.”</p><p>“<em> What? </em> ” Hubert asked suddenly— the first words he had said to Ferdinand in a week. “You… <em> what </em>?”</p><p>Edelgard’s eyes widened. “So you wanted to challenge Hubert instead of me?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he answered. He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do to push their relationship on the track to normalcy— for all he knew, he could’ve just been kicking away the only foundations there were. “I had already decided on that, but what you just said about Claude sealed it. If I didn’t win last year, there would be almost no chance of turning it around now.”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” Edelgard said. Ferdinand hoped she understood that he was trying to take her advice— she was perceptive, sure, but was she expecting <em> this </em>?</p><p>“So you decided to try to take away my position?” Hubert asked.</p><p>“A little friendly competition never hurt anyone, Hubert.” Ferdinand said, winking, drawing out Hubert’s ire that had been boiling for the past week. “And, hey, after this we’ll finally know who’s the better friend for Edelgard.”</p><p><em> Was this the right choice? </em> Ferdinand thought. At least they seemed to be on speaking terms now.</p><p>Hubert clenched his fists. “I’ve known her for a decade, which is a decade longer than <em> you </em>have.”</p><p>He looked like he would have said more, but Claude appeared behind him and Edelgard, throwing an arm around each of them. They flinched. “Edelgard! Hubert! It’s nice seeing you here. Who’s your ginger friend? I haven’t seen him around.”</p><p>“This is Ferdinand,” Edelgard answered, shrugging Claude’s arm off of her. Hubert did the same. </p><p>“Oh, Ferdinand! I heard so much about you from Lorenz last year, and even Edelgard talks about you from time to time. I’m Claude von Riegan. I heard you ran for president last year— are you here to challenge me this time?”</p><p>“No, I’m actually running for secretary this year. I figured I would give Hubert a run for his money this time,” Ferdinand explained while Hubert glared at him from across the table.</p><p>“Trying to slip Hubert’s position out from under him, huh? Though I suppose that’s what I’m doing with Edelgard. I’ll be looking forward to working with you, Ferdinand.” He winked.</p><p>“You know I won’t give up so easily, and neither will Dimitri,” Edelgard replied, sharp.</p><p>“Speaking of him, where is he? Did he chicken out of the competition?”</p><p>“Says the one who didn’t run last year.”</p><p>“Hey! Everyone talks over the announcements in first period, so I didn’t hear about it until it was too late!”</p><p>“Well, you <em> know </em> you have all the influence from the theater kids now— I wonder, is that what pushed you to run? I’ll have you know that I can win without a posse of <em> Hamilton </em> superfans by my side,” Edelgard said.</p><p>Claude scoffed. “I’ll show you what a posse of theater kids can do!”</p><p>“I’m sure all a group of theater kids can do is cause an annoyance at IHOP after their show’s opening night,” Hubert muttered, covering his smirk with his hand. “We’ll have to see about winning a class officer campaign…”</p><p>Ferdinand couldn’t help but laugh. <em> Since when was </em> Hubert <em> of all people witty? </em> </p><p>“Not funny.” Claude frowned, resisting a smile himself. He crossed his arms. “Consider yourself uninvited from my end-of-school-year parties.”</p><p>“Oh no, not the parties,” Hubert said monotonously.</p><p>“You hold parties?” Ferdinand asked.</p><p>“Oh yeah! I guess you weren’t invited to the last one since I didn’t know who you were at the time, but I’d totally invite you now. Just tag along with these two!” He put his hands on Edelgard and Hubert’s heads, who each swatted them away. “They’re pretty great— we always have a hundred people or so, and they’re all especially cool. Last year, we got a <em> bit </em> too loud, and kinda had the cops called a few times, but it was all in the name of good fun—”</p><p>“That part wasn’t fun at all, Claude,” Edelgard mumbled.</p><p>“Nonsense!”</p><p>“You were drunk. Where did you even get alcohol? You weren’t even fifteen!”</p><p>“I wasn’t drunk! And Hilda’s brother is, like, in his twenties, so he bought it legally!”</p><p>“That doesn’t make underage drinking suddenly legal.”</p><p>“I <em> know </em>. You don’t have to be so uptight, Edelgard. Maybe what the sophomore class of Garreg Mach needs is a little bit of fun, provided by yours truly. Actually, that just gave me a great idea for my campaign. I’ve already declared my candidacy to Principal Rhea and picked up the papers from her so I could leave early for theatre rehearsals, and now I have to get working on this campaign! See you guys around!”</p><p>And Claude, as quickly as he appeared, left.</p><p>Edelgard shook her head. “I will never understand that man. Can you believe he’s rumored to be at the top of our class? I guess he’d be higher if he managed to turn in his assignments on time.” She sighed. “As chaotic as he is, he’ll probably do well. I’ll have to think outside of the box if I want a better chance of winning.”</p><p>“And it seems I have competition this year, as well,” Hubert said, looking to Ferdinand.</p><p>“I won’t give up, Hubert,” he replied, the resolve within him growing warmer. “Consider us rivals.”</p><p>“Aren’t we already?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Did anything interesting happen at school?” Ferdinand’s mother asked him after her dinnertime conversation with his father had run its course. “Why did you need us to pick you up today?”</p><p><em> Should he tell? </em>The memories of the afternoon caught in his throat. He chewed on his food, thinking for that brief moment— if he lied, would his parents be able to notice it, etched in the lines of his face? Were they asking this for any particular reason? Were the risks of losing to Hubert greater than the risks of being caught?</p><p>A thousand excuses poured into his mind— he was asking for help in Physics, he was getting a bit more orchestra practice in with his director, he was stuck in the bathroom long enough to miss the bus— and, certainly, these could have held his parents at bay, but another thought crossed him. Just <em> how </em> much better would his campaign be if he had his parents (and more importantly, their money for campaign materials) on his side?</p><p>But how much worse would it be if he lost to Hubert rather than Edelgard?</p><p>If he had already taken the risk of becoming Edelgard’s friend and the risk of campaigning against Hubert to mend their relationship, what was one more?</p><p>“I declared my candidacy for class secretary today,” Ferdinand said when he finally finished chewing his well-done steak. (And seriously, why did his father insist that everyone had to eat an actual piece of leather for dinner? Did he know that was the wrong part of the cow?)</p><p>“Class secretary? I’m sure you’ll win with no problem,” his mom said.</p><p>His father’s eyebrows knit together. “Secretary? Why not president? Us von Aegir men aren’t meant for secretarial roles.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s poor heart wrenched. “It’s too late to change it now.” He twisted his shirt cuff under the table.</p><p>“Next year you’re running for president if I have anything to say about it. Why wouldn’t you win, anyway? Do you know the kids who are running?”</p><p>“There’s a lot of people running for it this year,” he lied. There were only three, one of whom was Edelgard, but he couldn’t tell his father that or else he’d be stuck at the table for the next hour for another of his father’s signature “pride and ambition” lectures. “I counted about seven this afternoon. I met one of the guys, and he knows everyone in the school’s theater so he’ll probably win.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“His name is Claude von Riegan.”</p><p>His father paused. “Claude doesn’t ring a bell, but von Riegan does. I might know his father from somewhere, but it escapes me… did you pussy out when you saw everyone running, or did your ambition fail you? Why didn’t I hear of these class officer elections last year?”</p><p>“Ludwig, language,” his mother scolded, though her words held no authority.</p><p><em> What excuses did he have now? </em> The memories of last year clung to Ferdinand— of his unwavering ambition, the sleepless nights, the encounter in the hallway. And, after the disaster of the concert, the results announced the next day still rang in his head.</p><p>
  <em> Freshman Class President, Edelgard von Hresvelg. </em>
</p><p><em> Edelgard </em>.</p><p>Always in front of him. Always in her shadow.</p><p>“I didn’t run last year. I misheard the announcements and didn’t sign up in time. Besides, I didn’t know who would run this year, so I wanted to play it safe,” Ferdinand lied again, this time hesitant. The look on his father’s face told him that his overcompensating excuses weren’t enough.</p><p>“A real von Aegir always takes risks. A real von Aegir never allows anything to step in the way of achievement.” His father set down his fork and knife. “Tomorrow, you are to go to the principal and request that you change the office you are campaigning for to president. And, quite frankly, I am very disappointed that you gave up so soon last year.”</p><p><em> If only his father knew the real risks he was enduring. </em> “Yes sir,” he said, his eyes focused on the table to hide the anger that bubbled up inside of him. He clenched his fists into the fabric of his pants.</p><p>
  <em> If only he knew the disappointment losing the election for president would bring. If only he knew everything Ferdinand had undergone last year, reaching in vain for a menial class office. If only he understood the obstacles that Edelgard and Hubert and Claude and Dimitri and he himself posed. </em>
</p><p>Did his father really have such faith in him, such faith that he could win the presidency in a landslide, or did he only push Ferdinand to fit his lofty expectations to ridicule him when he would inevitably fail?</p><p>“Don’t forget to practice your violin. You have a private lesson tomorrow at five— don’t disappoint your instructor. Isn’t the first chair test of the year coming up soon?”</p><p>“Yes sir,” Ferdinand said. The words were rehearsed at this point— monotonous with no meaning.</p><p>After dinner, he retreated to his room to play the recordings of his earlier practices, with just enough actual practice mixed in to get away with it.</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>The next morning at school, Ferdinand stopped by the principal’s office before first period began.</p><p>He didn’t have any intention to change the office he was campaigning for. Being there and asking was simply a formality to shake off his father— if he didn’t do it, his father would be storming up to the school within the next week, demanding that they let his precious son change his campaign. Then it <em> would </em> be changed.</p><p>“Is there something I can help you with, Ferdinand?” Principal Rhea asked, typing away at something on her computer. He stepped into the room, hesitant. <em> How would he bring this up without it being… awkward? </em></p><p>“Good morning,” he replied, assuming his usual aura of false confidence. “I was just wondering if there was any way I could change the class office I’m campaigning for?”</p><p>“Yes, actually. It’s not hard to do— if you tell me, I’ll change it right now, even,” she answered. Ferdinand cursed in his mind.</p><p>“Um, how long would I have before my decision is final?”</p><p>She shrugged. “I assume you could change it up until you have to present your speeches next Wednesday.” <em> Wednesday… would that give him enough time to hope his father forgot about the elections? No, that was a little over half a week from now. Certainly his father would remember before then, ask, and then come to the school after Ferdinand would lie and say that the principal said no… </em></p><p>“Is something wrong, Ferdinand?” Rhea asked.</p><p>“Oh— no, it’s alright,” he answered, pulled from his thoughts. <em> Should he switch offices? Should he tell her about his father? Should he take this risk? </em> “I actually don’t want to change the office.”</p><p>“Then what was the point of coming here?” She gave a small laugh.</p><p>Ferdinand shifted his gaze to his hands, where he was messing with his shirt cuffs. “My dad wanted me to switch to president, but I would rather campaign for secretary this year. I would certainly lose the race for the presidency again.”</p><p>“In that case, there’s absolutely no way for me to change your candidacy,” she declared with a soft, yet knowing smile on her face. Relief flushed through Ferdinand; he let out a sigh. “I apologize, but as soon as someone declares their candidacy, they cannot change it at all. At least, if I am to hear from Mr. von Aegir, that is what I’ll tell him.”</p><p>“Thank you so much,” Ferdinand breathed. With this, he would still have to endure a lecture, but that would be better than having to change his candidacy and lose for the second year in a row.</p><p>“You’re welcome. I deal with parents like this all the time. Now hurry on to first period.”</p><p>“Thank you again,” Ferdinand said again, rushing out of the office. He felt most of his stress melt away on the walk to his Physics class— not having to worry extraneously about his parents always made him feel on top of the world. He made it to his class with a couple minutes until the tardy bell, and he settled into his desk with another relieved sigh.</p><p>That day, they were taking notes, which meant no phones, no talking, and complete attention. These were probably his favorite days— no forced interaction with Hubert in a lab, and no super hard quizzes or tests. He took out his notebook.</p><p>As soon as the lecture started, Ferdinand couldn’t keep his eyes off one… weird spot on Hubert’s neck. They both sat sideways to the whiteboard at the front of the class, so they had to crane their necks to see the material. He also sat behind Hubert, which meant that his stupid head was always in his view. Normally it was an annoyance, but today something caught his attention.</p><p>He had no experience with makeup except whatever his mom used, but he almost <em> swore </em> that there was makeup on Hubert’s neck. If he squinted his eyes right, it even looked like there was something green or yellow there. And if he really stared, it started to look purple.</p><p><em> Was there something there? Was he covering it up? </em> He brought his attention back to his notes, hurriedly copying down the information on the powerpoint slides. <em> Was it a hickey, or multiple? </em></p><p>Ferdinand admittedly didn’t know what a hickey looked like. The makeup on Hubert was subtle, but he could make out a large outline. <em> There’s no way a hickey could be that big, right? Besides, who would’ve wanted to kiss Hubert, much less suck on his neck? </em> He felt awkward even imagining Hubert in <em> that </em> way. It was indecent. Gross, even. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t do it again.</p><p>After class, Hubert didn’t walk with him to English— maybe because of the stunt Ferdinand pulled declaring his candidacy yesterday, and hopefully not because he could feel Ferdinand’s odd gaze on his neck for the entire class period.</p><p>In English, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Hubert’s neck again. From across the table, however, he couldn’t see the makeup or whatever it was hiding. This time, Hubert <em> did </em> notice his odd gaze and returned a sour glare that sent a chill down Ferdinand’s spine. He didn’t look at Hubert after that.</p><p><em> Should he mention it offhandedly to Edelgard? </em> If anything, she would be the one to know if Hubert was getting hot and heavy with someone, or if he had a mysterious injury, or if he just liked to slap makeup on his neck. He vetoed the idea, though—  there was no way she would tell him what was going on without veiling it in some cryptic message.</p><p>For most of the day after English, Ferdinand managed to forget about it. After his World History test that afternoon, which took the entire class period as usual, he sat brain-dead in his Algebra II class. Even though they had a short lecture that day, Ferdinand couldn’t bring himself to finish his homework. He was still thinking about the short answer question he had written and if it was enough to score high A.</p><p>“—so I went to the bathroom, and when I walked in, there was this tall, scary looking guy with a thing of <em> concealer </em> in his hand.”</p><p><em> A tall, scary looking guy? Concealer? </em> Ferdinand pried his head from his desk, trying to find the source of the conversation he had accidentally overheard. <em> Could it have been Hubert? Did he even go to the bathroom during the classes they had together? </em> He tried to remember. </p><p>“What was he doing with it?”</p><p>Ferdinand saw the guys sitting at the desks in front of him, turned toward each other in this hushed conversation. He craned his ear toward them.</p><p>“Well, from what I could see, he had a nasty bruise on his neck that he was trying to cover up. I asked him if it was a hickey— you know, trying to be funny— but he glared at me.”</p><p>“Damn. And you don’t know who he was?”</p><p>“Well, when I got back to class, I mentioned it to my friend. Turns out he knew him in middle school. His name’s Hubert. Used to show up to school all the time with all sorts of bruises and cuts on his arms, apparently.”</p><p><em> Hubert. </em> So this was him.</p><p>“Fuck, man, that’s serious. I mean, I had my fair share of scrapes as a kid, but if it’s that bad then it’s on another level.”</p><p>“I know, I feel bad for trying to joke about it.”</p><p>“Yeah, you were insensitive. That shit’s serious.”</p><p><em> Serious? </em> Ferdinand thought. <em> Why would it be serious? What could Hubert have been doing from such a young age to have people spread these rumors about him? </em> He resisted the urge to ask to ask them outright.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe that’s why I can’t hold down a relationship longer than—”</p><p>Ferdinand stopped listening when the topic changed. He sat his head back down on the desk, trying to make sense of everything he had found out. And maybe he was too brain-dead, or he was too stupid to understand, but nothing was making sense. If he didn’t have constant hickeys since middle school (which would have been <em> completely </em> impossible), then what explanation was there? Maybe he had hemophilia? His head hurt— he couldn’t think straight. There was still an hour left of school and another class to endure before he could go home for the weekend, take a nap, and figure this out.</p><p><em> That’s what I’ll do, </em> he thought. <em> I’ll figure this out later. </em></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>That weekend it rained.</p><p>Ferdinand sat on his bed, surrounded by the damp afternoon and sounds of raindrops on the outside of the house. He was supposed to go ride his horse that day, but the pounding rain made it impossible, so he resigned himself to a boring evening at home.</p><p>He should’ve been practicing— especially with a chair test that week— but today was too hazy to be productive. Melancholy washed over him as he watched water streak down his window. Days like this always made him feel a vague sadness.</p><p>And ever since yesterday his thoughts had been too occupied with Hubert. He stared blankly at his phone screen, letting his fingers drift to the messages.</p><p><em> Hey, </em> he texted Edelgard.</p><p>It took a few minutes, but he got a response. <em> is something up? </em></p><p><em> I’m bored </em>, he admitted.</p><p>
  <em> wanna talk about something? </em>
</p><p>He paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. There was something big on his mind, obviously, but how should he bring it up?</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, actually. I saw a bruise on Hubert’s neck yesterday, covered by makeup, and I was wondering if you knew what happened. </em>
</p><p>Another few minutes passed before her reply came— either she was busy, or she was thinking about how to word it.<em> how strange of you to worry about him, </em> was all she wrote.</p><p>Ferdinand frowned, about to reply, when another text showed up. <em> hubert is strong. he won’t let other people stand in his way </em>, she answered, in her typical fashion of not answering any of Ferdinand’s questions at all.</p><p>
  <em> Oh come on. What’s that supposed to mean? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> do you remember what I told you about his parents? </em>
</p><p>Hubert’s parents… it was when they were talking last week. She had mentioned that they were neglectful at times…</p><p>Oh. <em> Oh. </em></p><p>Ferdinand placed his phone down and stared at the ceiling.</p><p>That’s what that meant.</p><p>He heard the rain pound against the roof of his house, not letting up even though it had poured for hours that day. So… that’s what that meant. What Hubert had said a year ago. What Edelgard told him a week ago. What he had overheard a day ago. <em> That’s all what that meant. </em>Even if his own parents were annoying and overbearing sometimes, Hubert’s were on another level entirely— to the point where Hubert would come into school with scrapes and bruises covered with makeup.</p><p>Now he felt like even <em> more </em> of an asshole.</p><p><em> I can’t believe I’ve been so insensitive this entire time, </em> he texted. <em> Is there anything I could do? </em></p><p>
  <em> for starters, stop worrying about him. it feels wrong of you to do that, lol. as long as i'm with him, he’ll be okay. </em>
</p><p><em> Okay, </em>he said, and he tossed his phone on the other side of his bed. He turned back toward the window. His phone vibrated with another text, but he didn’t bother to check it— all that was on his mind was just how much of an asshole he was.</p><p>How could Hubert even look at him after what he said when they fought? How could he bear to be in the same room as him? How could he <em> want </em> to fix their relationship? Ferdinand’s stomach churned, the bad thoughts welling up inside his mind.</p><p>He stayed there for a while, thinking too much and too little about everything. Each thought clashed in his head. He wished there was something he could do to run away from them. To escape.</p><p>He didn’t move until his father called him down for dinner and chastised him for not using the afternoon to practice.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Ferdinand’s thoughts were still muddled by the chair test, even though the rain had cleared a few days before.</p><p>It was Tuesday. Tonight he would have to go home, record his campaign speech for secretary, and maybe throw together an extra poster or two after getting his mom to take him to Office Depot. But whenever his mind focused on his campaign, he couldn’t help but think about his opponent; once again he would be lost in his thoughts, in the self-hatred and the pity.</p><p>In the emotions that flooded his head, anxiety was nowhere to be found. Strangely, he wasn’t worried about this chair test. He had practiced to his own perfection, even if it wasn’t quite enough to surpass Edelgard. It was something he had resigned himself to a long time ago, even if his parents hadn’t.</p><p>That’s why, sitting in Orchestra on that particular Tuesday, Ferdinand wasn’t nervous at all. Next to him Edelgard was composed, although he thought he could see her hands shaking once or twice throughout the class period.</p><p>This time their director started with an order opposite than usual— the basses would perform first, then the cellos, violas, and finally the violins. Normally that would have made Ferdinand stressed out of his mind, but his practice the night before had given him actual confidence rather than artificial. It also meant that Hubert was up first.</p><p>Ferdinand watched closely as he played, tugging his bow across the large strings of his bass, his eyes focused on the sheet music in front of him. A pang of guilt twisted his heart. <em> Were there any signs that something was wrong? </em> From across the room, he couldn’t see if there were scrapes or bruises covered by makeup. He didn’t <em> look </em> like he was in pain, or sad, or depressed, but then again he wasn’t sure what that entailed. Hubert looked as normal as ever. The bags under his eyes were still a staple accessory to his face. His hair still seemed somewhat greasy. He was even wearing an obscure band t-shirt with a jacket thrown over it— all things which were normal for him. If there were any signs, any cries for help, they certainly didn’t lie in his disheveled appearance.</p><p>He shifted his eyes away as Hubert finished playing and tried not to look at him for the rest of the class. There was nothing that could be fixed by gazes alone, anyway— not his self-hatred, and not what Hubert’s parents had done.</p><p>Ferdinand forced himself to do some homework before the chair test had snaked its way to the violin section, and near the end of the class period it loomed upon him. Both he and Edelgard began to focus; he sang the melody in his head, remembering the hours of practice he had spent on this one song.</p><p>And when it was his turn, he played. His heart beat and resounded with the music— something that hadn’t happened since the first concert of his freshman year, when the music commenced after he had locked eyes with Hubert. <em> Was this what Edelgard felt all the time? Was this why she always performed so well? </em></p><p>In what felt like no time at all, Ferdinand’s first chair test of sophomore year was over. He lowered his instrument to rest on his thighs, feeling his heartbeat calm after the flurry of the performance. He hardly heard Edelgard play after him, with the pounding in his ears still too loud.</p><p>In ten more minutes the rest of the violin section had performed their parts of the song. Ferdinand braced himself for the results, not allowing his hopes to climb any higher.</p><p>But the music— the <em> music </em>— he couldn’t help the arising elation in his chest because of it. He stared at the ground, at the short blue carpet of the orchestra room, his hands balled in the fabric of his pants. For once, he had given a performance he could be proud of, no matter how Edelgard might have done. For once, the doubt and self-hatred was washing away.</p><p>But despite everything telling himself to brace for failure, Ferdinand felt as though he was in a dream when his name was called for first chair.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: hubert's heart.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Where Did The Party Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>inebriety and rivalry.</p><p>TW: slurs</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i totally forgot to link my tumblr last chapter oops ! i just made it so go follow?? i post my fics on there and i've done one (1) manga coloring that was half-decent and i'm vibing. idk. <a href="https://kiwissima.tumblr.com/">here you go!</a> :&gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hubert said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Edelgard had just arrived at her house that afternoon. They were still sitting in his car, windows rolled down, the oppressive heat of the mid September day surrounding them. (It was also a horrible day for Hubert to have worn a </span>
  <em>
    <span>black hoodie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but there wasn’t much else he could’ve used to cover his arms.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> I threw the chair test to Ferdinand,” Edelgard repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edelgard…” he mumbled, gritting his teeth. “You may be my best friend but I fucking hate you for that. Why would you even—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waved her hand. “It was tougher than intentionally getting first chair, that’s for sure. Playing worse than him but better than everyone else can be a thin line to walk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand how, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was bored. I wanted to change things up.” She shrugged. Something about her expression told him that it wasn’t the only reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweat pooled under Hubert’s hair and on the bottom of his jeans. “You’re lucky I have to go to work in an hour,” he snapped, turning off the car. “I’d be angry all evening otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go inside. If you forget about this, I promise I’ll let you play the cool electric guitar a certain someone gave to me for my birthday this year…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sighed. “If you keep acting like this I’ll just take it back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love me. You would never,” Edelgard said, pulling her backpack and violin out from the backseat. Hubert stepped out of the car and followed her into the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert was exhausted when he returned home that night. The incident in orchestra had him </span>
  <em>
    <span>boiling</span>
  </em>
  <span> with anger for the entire day, and when he was working that afternoon, he had to hide it to not risk losing his job. He almost screamed at some middle-aged lady who insisted that her expired coupon could be used. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Only his father’s car was in the driveway. Hubert stood outside his house, his backpack slung around his shoulders, still wearing his work t-shirt and nametag. From the outside, the house seemed quiet. The front porch light shined its steady glow into the night. The cool darkness surrounded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert hesitated before pushing open the front door to his house. The last thing he wanted was a fight, and he knew that if his mom wasn't home, his dad would be on edge. Or, hopefully, high out of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the door quietly behind him, creeping through the near-silent house. The stairs weren’t too far from the entrance, but he would have to sneak past the living room and kitchen. The TV was on in the living room; it illuminated the inside of the house with a blue glow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere, a beer can crashed against the hardwood floor. Hubert made it into the living room, where he found the source of the noise— his father was on the couch, an array of empty cans beside him on the floor. The TV was set to one of those late-night news channels that seem only to exist to show a bunch of old white guys trash minority rights and the ever-so-rampant threats of communism. Tonight they were discussing “the gays”. Hubert’s heart sunk into his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just something else that would make him angry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched his father for a minute from the other room, eyeing the staircase near the kitchen. His dad seemed engrossed in the news, in the hatred. Hubert almost took a step forward, but his dad stood from the couch. He ducked back into the other room, feeling his heartbeat quicken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the fridge, and the hiss of another opened beer. When the couch creaked, only then he dared to look back. His father had settled back in the living room. The piss-soaked smell of alcohol lingered in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert made his way to the stairs as quiet as possible. Then, he braced himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stairs creaked when he stepped on them— as always. He could almost feel his father turn around, the pent-up anger in the air, his eyes on Hubert’s back. He turned around, too, and their eyes met.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing… home so late?” his dad half-slurred— drunk, but not drunk enough yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was working.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, sucking some old pedos off for a couple twenties?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert didn’t have it in him to argue. He turned around, stepping up a couple of stairs. There was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clang</span>
  </em>
  <span> as something hit the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hubert!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clean up this mess you made,” his dad yelled. He saw a beer can roll at the foot of the stairs, the foamy yellow liquid splattered over the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You threw it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made me throw it.” The couch creaked, and his father stumbled to the staircase. “Clean it up, you stupid fucking… son of a bitch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sat his backpack on the stairs and pushed past his father into the kitchen. He threw a dish towel on the floor, mopping up the beer with his shoe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking useless,” his dad spat as he pushed him aside, grabbing the rag and wiping the residue all over the floor and wall. “You make me waste a whole beer and you can’t even clean it right. I raised you wrong. Your bitch of a mom raised you wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert stood there as the hate poured from his father’s mouth. He didn’t dare do or say anything that would set him off further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Your bitch of a mom thinks she’s so much better without me, running off and doing who-knows-what. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the smartest one in this fucking house. If you and her just listened to me we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess. If you listened to me, maybe you wouldn’t be such a useless faggot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not the one throwing around beer cans,” Hubert muttered, his patience growing to its thinnest. “I’m not the one chasing off his wife with his shitty attitude and alcoholism and I’m not the one who yells slurs at his son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re not the one supporting this household with a stressful job,” his dad said, thrusting his finger at Hubert’s chest. “You’re not the one who went through law school. You’re not the one who raised a stupid baby for sixteen fucking years only for it to turn out gay and a disappointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I support myself. I have my own job. I pay for anything that I would want. Last time I checked, you checked out of parenting me years ago. All you do is sit around and get drunk and high and blame everyone else for </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> problems. Fuck off,” he spat, retreating up the stairs. His father swiped at him, grabbing the back of his shirt, but Hubert shook him off and locked himself in his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, tossing his backpack at the foot of his bed, shrugging himself out of his work’s uncomfortable polo shirt and his jeans. A few minutes later his father was banging at his door, threatening to bust it down, but Hubert knew those threats were as empty as the beer cans that surrounded the couch— he couldn’t do anything like that while drunk. He just slipped in his earbuds to drown out the noise and waited for his father to grow tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though he had an Algebra II quiz tomorrow and a bunch of homework due, he couldn’t find it in himself to finish all of it. He shuffled his main playlist and it ended up on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Chemical Romance </span>
  </em>
  <span>song that he used to listen to on repeat when he was in middle school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Hubert, it always sucked when his songs became associated with certain depressing periods of his life. Since his brain associated this song with middle school, there were a lot of memories resurfacing that he wished he could just forget. Losing Edelgard to her uncle. Being alone for two years. Thinking he could make some friends again, only for them to turn around and tell everyone his “secret” behind his back— a secret that killed whatever relationship he had left with his asshole parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not the one who raised a stupid baby for sixteen fucking years only for it to turn out gay and a disappointment.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, only Edelgard had his back now. Even if she threw the stupid fucking chair test to Ferdinand earlier that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sighed and let himself fall asleep to the music as angry as he was.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day at school, Ferdinand was beaming. Hubert walked into his Physics class feeling as though there was a new light source for the galaxy, which originated right next to him. And he was pissed about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert thought that, after a full day, he would be back to his normal, only slightly angry self. Whatever anger might be left over in him, he could redirect it towards the entitled customers at work or his father. But no— Ferdinand always had to bring emotions out from him that he didn’t know he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only got worse when the school aired the campaign speeches for the class officers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, they had to have a completely altered schedule for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire</span>
  </em>
  <span> day just to show off thirty-something mediocre speeches in the auditorium for the class offices that half the school didn’t care about. His Physics class was led to the auditorium, where he was forced to sit with his class, next to Ferdinand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert said nothing; he was glad that Ferdinand seemed to return the favor. It was already humiliating enough to be seated next to his competition, with his rushed speech on display for the entire school for the second year in a row. He wished he could hide in the bathroom for the entirety of the assembly, but he had to be there to support Edelgard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spotted her stark-white hair near the very front of the auditorium, so far away he could hardly make out any of her other features. It looked like she was talking to someone— was that Claude next to her? How ironic that she was seated near her biggest competition, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speeches went by slowly, starting with the freshmen. Hubert longed to do anything but watch them, but his Physics teacher was standing watch over their entire class and had already told a couple kids to put their phones away. His was heavy in the pocket of his jeans; he wanted to text Edelgard, to alleviate the boredom he felt. Ferdinand’s presence beside him was almost too much to bear alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it was time for the speeches of the candidates for the sophomore class secretary, he tried to keep his attention on anything but the huge screens at the front of the auditorium. Ferdinand’s video came first, and all of Hubert’s stupid memories and emotions of the past few weeks threatened to burst inside him at the sound of his infuriating voice. He clenched his fists and his jaw. He didn’t dare look at Ferdinand’s expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His speech sounded like the one he wrote for the year before— too many empty promises, only for the chance of being elected. Hubert could hear the desperation lacing his tone, no matter how hard he might have tried to hide it. Ferdinand had wished so </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly</span>
  </em>
  <span> for any semblance of a victory over him or Edelgard. It was pathetic, really, especially since his first victory the day before was one he didn’t even earn by his own merits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Ferdinand’s speech came Hubert’s. He cringed at the sound of his voice, at the monotone speech he had delivered in the video, at the lack of charisma he had in comparison. He had filmed it with Edelgard, who helped him write his speech— but none of that mattered if he appeared looking half-dead and characteristically emo, whereas Ferdinand seemed a lot more normal. Ever since Ferdinand declared his candidacy, there was a sinking feeling within him that he wouldn’t win again this year, and this contrast only intensified it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert hardly had pride in himself anymore, but if he lost this year to Ferdinand— the rich, uptight asshole with an inferiority complex— he wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped paying attention as soon as his speech ended, only listening for Edelgard’s. That weekend they had put so much time into preparing her posters and speech. At least if Edelgard won and not him, he could be happy knowing that some of his work wasn’t in vain. Besides, he did this for her only.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude’s speech was… interesting. In comparison to Edelgard’s poised and professional tone, Claude took everything to the extreme in the opposite direction. His speech was wild, all over the place, and not structured whatsoever— but Hubert could see that it held the school’s attention better than some of the more polished speeches. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Edelgard’s competition. This was the kind of charisma a theater kid could have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the assembly they returned to class. Hubert wished he could talk to Edelgard about it, but it would be lunchtime before they could text and even later than that before they could talk in person— she had a private lesson after school, and he had to work later that evening anyway. Once he was back in his class, sitting next to a still-beaming Ferdinand, he was forced to bite back insults in the name of decency. Especially when one of their classmates complimented Ferdinand on his well constructed speech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert dreaded going to orchestra that day, but sometimes time had a funny habit of speeding up exactly when he wished for it to slow down. In class he retreated to the bass section, refusing to interact with Ferdinand at all. Instead he watched from afar, a witness to his pompous attitude and Edelgard’s smug acceptance of the results of the chair test. He watched him practice the songs for their upcoming concert. He watched him lead the violin section with his exaggerated bow movements, not yet as quick and precise as Edelgard’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He counted the minutes until it was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the school day crawled by, with Hubert never getting a chance to vent to Edelgard. His lunch was spent doing the Algebra homework he had forgotten about and preparing for his quiz, and his other afternoon classes were bell-to-bell lectures with no time to think about anything else. He drove home alone, yelling curses into the balmy wind beyond his rolled-down windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a strange smell in his house when he arrived. Usually it was of day-old beer stains on the hardwood floor and the couch, but today it seemed as if all traces of his father’s bad habits had been removed. His mom’s car was the only one in the driveway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert? Is that you?” she called from the kitchen. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took cautious steps, almost the same as the night before. His mom stood in the kitchen with something sizzling in the pan in front of her. The smell was food— strangely, she was cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came home this morning from work and I wanted to surprise you,” she explained. She was still wearing her scrubs, apparently having worked a night shift at the hospital (though Hubert could never be sure, since there were times where she’d run off with some man she met for days at a time). “I’m making stir-fry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert’s mom was tall and skinny just like he was, but her age showed despite how much she attempted to hide it with Botox injections and makeup. Most of the time he would barely regard her, as she seemed only to exist in the family dynamic as the one who would light his father’s short fuse before leaving, and then trying to make up for it when she returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there were times when he appreciated the moments of normalcy she would give to the family— and now was one of them. For she had the superhuman, motherly charm of melting away any stress and anger clenching onto his conscience. Even if she was the reason it would later return in the form of his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds good,” Hubert admitted, feeling his edges soften. He was growing tired of ordering fast food after every late-night shift, or the guilt that would accompany him when he ate dinner at Edelgard’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father and I made up, and he'll be home in twenty minutes. I was hoping we could have a nice, early dinner then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His father</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He hoped that he wouldn’t still be angry after last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fought with him too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was nice of her to pretend that she cared,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If she really did, she would’ve left this marriage a long time ago.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But he still basked in the compassion that was rarely shown to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good,” she said, a hint of worry still clinging to her words. “I know how you and your father fight. He told me this morning that he would work on it. I just need you to be willing as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There she goes, dismissing the abuse</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Okay,” he lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom smiled. “Can we all have a family talk after dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to work at four.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That should be enough time. But Hubert, you know what I tell you about that job. There’s no sense in working part-time in retail for pennies when we’re willing to pay for anything you would want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert remembered the previous Christmas and his sixteenth birthday, where both times he received nothing from his parents except fighting. “I’m saving for college,” he lied again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can pay off your loans, honey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having job experience helps my </span>
  <span>résumé</span>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say,” she said, turning back to the food she was cooking. Hubert retreated upstairs to prepare himself for the potential shitstorm that could happen with his dad home for dinner and a “family talk”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About once a month now it happened that his mom would become apologetic, and she would try to do whatever was in her power to fix the family. His dad would give the fakest fucking apology and Hubert would pretend that he hadn’t been called a faggot the night before. Then his mom would say they would all go to church that Sunday for the Lord’s good influence or whatever (and not therapy or a divorce lawyer, which was really what the family needed). Then his dad would drink after work the next day, and thus the cycle began anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He texted Edelgard about this stupid “family talk”, knowing that she wouldn’t see it until after her lesson, whenever he would already be leaving for work. Everything was so overwhelming— the results of the chair test, Ferdinand and Claude’s speeches, and now his family’s blas</span>
  <span>é attempt at purging their toxicity. Anxiety pooled in his stomach; he slipped his earbuds in, trying to distract himself from it somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, just as it did this morning, time still passed. He didn’t hear the front door open when his father returned; instead he was called by his mom, her voice echoing through the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sat at the table, tracing the grains in the wood with his eyes. He didn’t say anything to his parents, now— what was there to say after last night’s altercation? His father wasn’t drunk, though his expression was drawn with harsh, straight lines, which suggested he was annoyed and almost certainly still hungover. His mom set the table and served them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With every moment he had to sit next to his father and pretend everything was okay, his appetite morphed into anxiety. He managed to eat a few bites of his food, but the vegetables were mushy and everything was coated in too much sauce. He should have known not to trust his mom’s cooking— if he hadn’t been craving a home-cooked meal, he could’ve lied that he had to work earlier to avoid this “family talk”. Thirty minutes still remained before he could leave the prison that he called home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was your day?” His mom asked his dad, treading carefully as if to not step on a landmine. The hesitance in her voice was strong, and even her eyes reflected some amount of fear that Hubert felt on occasion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long,” he grunted, even though he had left work a couple hours earlier that day. “The bastard Ionius came to me and tried to negotiate on the business side of things. I told him that he’s not getting my clients and to fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert clenched his fists. He knew that his father only mentioned Edelgard’s father to piss him off. But he didn’t say anything, and kept eating the food that was half-mush. How characteristic it was of his dad to anger him in a situation like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” his mom said. “Hubert, how was yours?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he answered, not caring to elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did anything interesting happen? A test, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a quiz.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you do well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad rolled his eyes. “Hubert, if you want to help us fix our family, you need to be willing to do your part. That means talking to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at his dad. “Okay.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Talk to them? What the fuck were they thinking? Every word that came out of his father’s mouth was an insult, meant to erode him into nothing. And they wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>him</span>
  <em>
    <span> to be civil? To be open with them?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grit his teeth, pressing away his ire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right, you know. We love you, Hubert, and for that reason we want you to do your part, too,” his mom said.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You love me? What a fucked up way of showing it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his fingers through his hair. The remnants of last week’s argument grew hot on Hubert’s body, reduced to nothing but scars now— permanently resting on both his body and his conscience. “And what are you going to do this time? How are you going to fix this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father has agreed to stop drinking and smoking,” she answered for him. “And we, as a family, will be attending church on Sundays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, he didn’t expect it at all. A baseless promise not even from his dad’s mouth and forcing fake worship from him? They had never tried this before!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s what is best for this family,” his mom continued. “If we’re all able to go and pray, we can get past this negative period in our lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What about the adultery? The abuse? The fundamental problems of this family, which wouldn’t be fixed by begging an outside force, but by change from within?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there something wrong with that?” his dad asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hubert lied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed his fist on the table. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, Hubert, no more of this silent treatment bullshit. You sit here and ignore us and give us one word answers when you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk, and you act like that’s the right way to treat a parent. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> begin to treat us with respect, or else there will be consequences.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert pushed his plate away from him, standing from the table. “And when will you treat me with respect?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sixteen, what do you know about it? All you do is stay out of the house doing god-knows-what. We can’t even trust you to spend time with us. You don’t deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither do you, asshole,” Hubert replied, storming out of the kitchen. He locked the door to his room once he got inside. It was almost three forty-five— he’d have to leave for work soon. For now, he sat on the other side of his door, the yelling and arguing of his parents another world away beyond it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should have pretended to go along with it. Maybe he should have listened to his parents tell him how much of a fuck up he was for hating them. Maybe he should have shut his goddamn mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No— that wouldn’t work.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No matter how hard he tried, Hubert would never be able to fit within the boundaries of his parents’ expectations. No one would be able. They were simply a trap, an excuse to pin him with all the sins of the family. To rid themselves of the blame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>After the speeches that were shown last week, Hubert wasn’t expecting much from his campaign for class secretary. Despite how mad it made him, he knew he wouldn’t win against Ferdinand’s inherent charisma without a miracle. He had braced himself for it— he might lose the battle, but he could still win the war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it came as a surprise when the devastation hit him hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat in first period that day as the results were broadcasted over the school announcements. He sat next to Ferdinand, his enemy, forced to bear witness to his utter loss with the victor at his side. And if Ferdinand’s pompous attitude after placing first chair was bad, then his attitude after winning class secretary could be on a new level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t what mattered this election. If only Edelgard could pull out the win against Claude and Dimitri, Hubert would have de facto influence in the student council in the form of his best friend, even if he wasn't present in it anymore. So in the past week they had upped her campaign to a second form— they even tried garnering votes for Edelgard in their individual classes (even if Hubert seemed to scare off a couple of his classmates). It didn’t seem to matter, though, because when </span>
  <em>
    <span>Claude von Riegan</span>
  </em>
  <span> rang through the entire school, all of the work that went into Edelgard’s campaign this year was for naught.</span>
</p><p><em><span>Was this what Ferdinand felt like last year?</span></em> <em><span>Devastated?</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Hubert wished he could hate Claude. He wished he could hate Ferdinand. But he had misjudged Ferdinand this time— there was something about his genuine </span>
  <em>
    <span>joy</span>
  </em>
  <span> and lack of a snobby attitude that made the hate in Hubert flood away. He sat next to him, looking as if in disbelief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations, Ferdinand,” Hubert muttered, not even sarcastic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th— thank you,” he said, seemingly caught off-guard by Hubert’s sincerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might have been devastated by his and Edelgard’s joint loss this year, but at least the title of class secretary was going to someone who must have worked hard for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert finally had time to talk to Edelgard more before orchestra rehearsals started after school that day. They had a while before they got started, and as per usual, Edelgard was in the room practicing before Ferdinand had even shown up. A perfect opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said and sat in the seat next to her, slinging his backpack on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert! I was worried when you didn’t reply much last night.” She moved her violin from her chin and set it on its case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I worked until closing and I was exhausted again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand. What happened with your parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. They just got mad at me for being closed-off. They were already asleep when I got home, though. That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it the campaign?” she asked, her expression falling. “I’m pretty disappointed, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Of all people, I didn’t think I’d lose something to Ferdinand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be pissed,” she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert paused. “I’m actually not. At least the position is going to someone who actually cares about it. You can’t deny that I was apathetic about it last year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘At least the position is going to someone who cares?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert, did I die and enter an alternate universe where you and Ferdinand don’t hate each other, or did I miss something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “I still hate him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he spat. “Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted to win if you lost. There’s no point being on that council without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that sounds more like you. But really, just what has made you so sympathetic to Ferdinand all of a sudden?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert’s face flushed. “He’s still an insufferable asshole! He just looked happy to win. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> have died. You wouldn’t normally notice when your sworn enemy is happy.” Hubert clenched his fists, but Edelgard softened him with a pat of her hand. “I’ve told you, he really isn’t all that bad once you get to know him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s an asshole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was very compassionate when I had him over last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still can’t believe you did that. And I can’t believe you threw the chair test, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard smirked. “It all has a purpose,” she mused. “All I’m trying to do is make you two get along again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how throwing a chair test would make me like him. You’re too mysterious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s exactly what he tells me. See? You two are already more alike than you think!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, Hubert saw a familiar orange-haired asshole enter the orchestra room. “I’ll be going over to my section now. Have fun with your new best friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I will!” she shouted across the room, as Hubert walked away and Ferdinand walked up. “I'll tell him everything you told me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand looked confused. Hubert glared at her.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That evening after arriving home from Edelgard’s house, Hubert found himself in his usual position— in a fight with his father, who, this time, was high out of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you do your part to help this fucked-up family?” his father screamed into the living room, empty except for him, Hubert, and the TV which was spouting hateful rhetoric similar to the other night. His mom wasn’t home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you?” Hubert screamed back, frustrated and tired. He hadn’t even had a chance to make it upstairs, his backpack still slung over his shoulders— then again, that was how most of these conflicts happened. “You never own up to your drug and alcohol addictions, you never own up to any of the mistakes </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> make—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so it’s all my fault now? I’m the old one here. I’m the smart one here. You should listen to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If you don’t, I’m taking that car of yours to dump where it belongs. Then you won’t have anywhere to run when you’re mad.” His eyes were bloodshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert held his keys tight in his hand. “Sure. Do that, and we can take you to court for theft. That car’s not in your name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m the lawyer. I know more about the court than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> know more than Edelgard’s dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I know more than that frail old bastard,” he spat, waving his arms and knocking over an empty cup that had been sitting on the coffee table for a while. “Volkhard and I took his company right out from under him. What could he do to me in court? Especially one which Volkhard has power over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert bit his lip. His dad was right— what due process of law is there when two corrupt and powerful people team up…?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wouldn’t let himself fall for it. If he had helped rescue Edelgard from her uncle’s custody two years ago, then he could help himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What could her uncle do, with that restraining order against him? He couldn’t even take her family to court. And I’m sure you’re a sorry excuse for a lawyer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sudden, sharp pain on Hubert’s cheek. He held his hands against it dizzily, watching his father lower his hand, the palm red. “If you don’t appreciate all the fucking work I do for this family, then I’ll leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Hubert spat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave, and I’ll go find your mom. I’ll drag her back to this house. And when I get back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> will be having the discussion with you two this time.” He grabbed his car keys and wallet, which were always lying on the couch beside him after his post-work alcohol or drug binges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father left without another word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert stood in the living room, empty except for him and the TV. He turned it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quiet now, and the slap he had received across his face still stung. His face felt raw. He went to the front door and locked it; sure enough, his father was gone, speeding off into the night despite being impaired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a desolate night. There was a hole in Hubert’s chest, and it ached. And with everything else going on— the chair test, the failed campaign, Edelgard, Ferdinand, </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>— the last thing he wanted to do was talk to someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged his backpack off at the bottom of the stairs and walked into the kitchen. In the fridge there was no lack of cheap beer— in fact, it was one of the few things in there, only accompanied by an untouched jug of milk, half a carton of expired eggs, and all the other random sauces and condiments. He pulled out as many cans as he could hold and made the trek into his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It still tasted of piss— that was the first thing Hubert noticed when he took a sip. He set the rest of the cans on his nightstand and crawled into his bed, slipping his earbuds in. He took another sip of the beer. Still tasted like piss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The can was cold in his hands. He held it to his cheek, hoping it would numb the now-faint stinging even more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Na Na Na</span>
  </em>
  <span> played loud in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chugged the rest of the can, drinking despite the foul smell and taste. Then he opened a new one.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How long would it take him to become drunk?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hadn’t ever drank before, besides a small sip once when he was a child, before his father was an alcoholic and before everything had gone wrong. He turned the second can around in his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was it like to be drunk? Would all of his problems go away?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert drank the second can as the music in his ears changed. Then he nursed a third can through a couple of songs. He started feeling hot, so he pushed himself out from under his blankets and wiggled out of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway through the third can and some </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fall Out Boy</span>
  </em>
  <span> song he didn’t really even like, the tipsy feeling settled in his mind. The beer started tasting decent. The song became one of his new favorites. He cuddled up to a large pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During that hour he consumed can after can, feeling everything slip away. He hardly thought about what his father said before he left. The anxiety that had been pooling in his stomach was gone— and frankly, he didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> care if his father would return that night. It didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the music playing in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at his phone, at his texts with Edelgard. He had suddenly wanted to text her something, but the time at the top of his screen blinked</span>
  <em>
    <span> 12:28 AM</span>
  </em>
  <span> in and out of his vision. It was too late for that— wouldn’t she be asleep already? And besides, he didn’t really want her to know how much he had drunk. He clicked out of their messages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple spaces under that was Ferdinand’s name. He squinted at it, trying to remember just why he had that asshole’s number in his phone. In the logs he could read “Physics”; that must have been why. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should he text him? </span>
  </em>
  <span>No, what would he say? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, Ferdinand. Just wanted to let you know that I’m super fucking drunk.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With how uptight he could be, he would probably be outraged to know that Hubert had consumed five cans of beer while being five years underage. That thought was kind of funny, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at their texts for a while. When he thought about him, his mind became muddled. Sure, he hated him, but there was some strange quality about him now that made Hubert not infuriated with him like normal. Was it just the alcohol?</span>
</p><p><span>He sipped at another can while he tried to think more. The memory of a few weeks prior— or was it just one week ago? He didn’t remember— flooded his mind. Ferdinand’s stupid insistance that Hubert finish the book in order to finish the project. Their argument, which almost became physical. </span><em><span>Seriously, why did Ferdinand have to grab his shirt like that?</span></em> <em><span>Also, why was he suddenly aroused while thinking about this?</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Hubert quickly closed the messages app. “What the fuck,” he muttered to himself. “What the fuck. No. I hate that asshole.” Even if said asshole was kind of hot. In a stupid, pretentious way. He ran his fingers through his hair, tossing his phone aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe he had thought about Ferdinand like that once or twice. But that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> their argument, and it was just some random intrusive thought which he had barely given the time of day. And he hadn’t admitted it to anyone. Not even Edelgard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he thought about it all too much, he downed the rest of the can and forced himself to fall asleep, pushing away any sudden, weird thoughts which happened to cross his befuddled mind.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert didn’t go to school the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hangover hit him hard. He didn’t even know what time it was, or if his parents were home— just that his head ached and there was light in his room from the windows. He buried his head under a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A while later, there was a faint sound of a phone call. Hubert reached around for his phone, lost in the folds of his bed. He pulled out the earbuds, and the call became louder, echoing in his mind and drawing him out of sleep angrily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He answered it before he even knew who it was. “H— hello?” he asked, trying not to sound groggy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert?” Edelgard’s voice echoed through the phone. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just sleeping,” he mumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry to wake you. I snuck off during lunch to call since you didn’t reply last night or this morning,” she explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said. “I had a rough night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to come over after school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert pried his eyes open, squinting through the daylight at the empty beer cans tossed on his bedroom floor. “No, I’m okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said, her voice still not void of worry. “Did you just oversleep? Do you have to work this afternoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And I don’t think so. I work on Friday,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Today is Friday, Hubert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really okay? I can come over, it’s no big deal. I would just want to make sure your parents aren’t there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— yeah, I’m fine. I might have to call into work today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound like you. I’ll be over there after school ends, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Fine. I drank last night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Six cans, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hubert,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she scolded. “I had hoped you wouldn’t. You must feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Try to get up and shower or something before I get there this afternoon. I have to go eat lunch, but text me when you’re up, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll see you then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Bye, Hubert.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert groaned, forcing himself out of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where would he be without Edelgard?</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert spent the entire weekend trying to rid himself of the pounding in his head. He knew he shouldn’t have drank that much, especially since it was his first time. But here he was, reaping the effects of the hangover that just wouldn’t go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father, somehow, never noticed the six cans that had disappeared, and Hubert had no intention of letting him find out. His threats from the other night were not acted upon, and his family was able to return to its baseline— ignoring both each other and their problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Sunday evening when Hubert's shift ended, his head still sporting a light ache. He dreaded going home, and he dreaded returning to school the next day. So he sat in his car for a while, watching the sky morph from orange to blue, the nighttime air surprisingly cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was about to head home when his phone rang. Edelgard’s name was on the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gut twisted as soon as he heard sobs through the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W— will you come over?” she cried, her voice broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Hubert affirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she mumbled and hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six seconds. That was how long the call was, and it was just enough time for him to understand what he had to do. He started the car and sped out of the parking lot, continuing to push the speed limit as he drove. He had to get there as fast as possible. He had to be there for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was there something that had set her off this time, or was it completely random? Was her uncle there, pulling some sick stunt? Was it something else?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Hubert arrived, he had forgotten all about his light headache and his continuing family problems. He pushed himself out of the car, hardly caring to lock it. There weren’t any other cars in front, which meant that Edelgard was alone. The front door gave to his push and he shut and locked it behind him, hurrying through the familiar house into her room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was on her bed, surrounded by half-finished homework, her head pressed into her knees and held by her arms. Hubert reached out for her, sitting on the bed beside her. She recoiled at his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, Edelgard,” he reminded her, keeping his harsh voice as soft as he could. He reached out for her again and sat on the bed beside her. “Take deep breaths. Try grounding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath, lifting her head from her knees. Her arms were shaking as she tried to grasp for him. He moved her hair out of her face. “F—five things I can see? My hands. You. My bed. The walls. My desk.” She wiped dried tears from her face. “I can touch you, my blanket, my skin, and my pencil.” She touched the things she named as she listed them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert moved her homework out of the way and scooted closer to her, holding her back. “Three things you can hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your voice. My voice. The hum of the fan.” Her body was still shaking. “I— I can smell your cologne, and my shampoo on my hair. I can taste the chips on my nightstand.” She took another deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard took more deep breaths, staring at her knees, which she still held in her arms. “A little bit.” They sat there for a while, as Hubert rubbed circles into her back and she took deep breaths to calm herself down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to have called you so suddenly,” she said after ten or so minutes. “What were you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hadn’t even left work yet. I was sitting in my car, so I sped here as fast as I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did anything happen?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took another breath. “I don’t really know. I was just working on homework when it started. I would’ve been fine by myself; it was selfish of me to call you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that.” Hubert was the one to scold Edelgard this time. “I was glad to be here. You know I didn’t want to go home anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say anything. Instead, she stared at her knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel guilty asking you for so much,” she admitted after a moment’s pause. “I feel like I’ve already hurt you too much…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurt me?” he repeated, his mouth drawn into a frown. “You haven’t hurt me at all. You’ve always been my best friend, Edelgard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know.” She shook her head. “I— I feel like if I wasn’t weighing you down, keeping you here, you could get away from your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has this been worrying you recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edelgard…” he muttered. “You know I’d stand up to my parents a million times if it meant being able to be here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but that’s not it. They’re driving you into the ground. You drank so much the other night… i— it…” she stumbled on her words, not sure of what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise I’ll be responsible about it next time. But I would rather stay with my parents to stay close to you than risk being forced into some random home far away. I would rather be here for you in moments like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked silent tears from her eyes. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no way I would let my asshole parents block me from seeing our future coming into fruition,” he assured her. “We still have to graduate and go to college, and go to law school, and start a new company to help your dad, with no corrupt old dudes to take it from us.” She looked up at him; he smiled. “We still have a lot to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” she said in a small voice. “I— I just doubt everything sometimes. How will I face my uncle one day, if just the thought of him makes me break down like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Hubert said. “But you have me at your side, and even more courage than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat for a while like that, with Hubert holding Edelgard, with all the old memories bursting at the seams.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>That Thursday night was the first concert of Hubert’s sophomore year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually, he didn’t care much at all for the concerts. He didn’t see it as a way to show off; since he was a bass player left in the background his hard work would go unnoticed. His parents also never came to support him— so much for trying to mend the family dynamic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, they were annoying, alright. There was the long rehearsal beforehand, keeping him at school for over twelve hours in the day. There were the suits and dresses they had to rent from the school for the sake of being professional, although Hubert’s bowtie always sat too tight around his neck. Then there was the fact that he was forced to be around Ferdinand for all of it. At least Edelgard was there to keep him grounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kind of excited to play as second chair,” she admitted to him an hour before the concert started, as everyone was finishing getting changed into their uniforms. Hubert’s bowtie was already sitting uncomfortably around his neck; he tugged at it every few minutes. He scoffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate that you did that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she quipped. “It’ll be interesting to see how Ferdinand handles the pressure of being first chair of the best orchestra at this school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you did it? As another sort of competition to prove that he couldn’t handle it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard shrugged. “Maybe. Or, perhaps I wanted to see him succeed this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the crowds of people he noticed Ferdinand enter the orchestra room, dressed in the same rented suit that he wore. He looked down though as he approached, not daring to entertain the same intrusive thoughts which pierced his mind last week when he was drunk. No, he would bury those away as soon as they began to surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ready for the concert?” Ferdinand asked them, taking a seat on the floor next to Edelgard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> ready, mister first chair?” she asked him. He beamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m ready, I’ve been waiting my entire high school career for this day!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mess it up,” Hubert warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand frowned. “Why would I? I’m the best violin at Garreg Mach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no way you’re better than Edelgard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how did I get first chair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert glared at Edelgard, who had a sly smile on her face. “It was a fluke,” he said. “Edelgard wasn't feeling her best that day.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>If anything, Edelgard was on another level entirely— who else could control their skill so well that they managed to perform worse than one person and better than anyone else?</span>
  </em>
  <span> If only Ferdinand knew what she had done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that when the next chair test comes around,” Ferdinand huffed. “I’m just glad I get to play my own solo this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>solo?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hubert locked eyes with Edelgard again, whose smile grew more impish. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did she plan this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you not listen in class or rehearsals? I’ve been practicing it when we play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I pay attention to you or any of the other sections?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand looked hurt. “I thought I sounded pretty good…” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did,” Edelgard assured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ll have to listen to me tonight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert rolled his eyes, watching Ferdinand fume at his indifference. Angering him was much more fun than ignoring him, even if he was insufferable most of the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beginning of the concert drew closer, and all of the orchestras migrated to their seats in the auditorium, with the lowest orchestra, Philharmonic, starting on the stage first. He sat silent while the parents streamed in, not bothering to look (except for when Edelgard’s father arrived). He did, however, catch Ferdinand wave to his parents from the corner of his eye, and he wondered what they would think of his ascent to first chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the music began Hubert didn’t bother listening to it. He just waited for his turn to play at the very end of the concert, then he could go home, fight with his parents, and fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But waiting for Chamber 1’s performance, he watched Ferdinand become so engrossed with the music, despite it only being half-decent. It was a similar expression to when he would play— and it was similar to Hubert himself, when he would listen to his favorite songs through the haven of his earbuds. And because he hardly watched Ferdinand perform in class and in rehearsals, it was during the concerts when he noticed his passion for the music. He could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, in the way Ferdinand swayed in front of an audience, with a completely different attitude than when they were simply practicing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first concert of their sophomore year, and Ferdinand was first chair of the highest orchestra at Garreg Mach, a man with a unique passion for music and for performing, which could even rival that of Edelgard. Hubert could admit that Ferdinand was to be respected for it (although he wouldn’t ever say it to his face).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the other three orchestras, their performance arrived. Hubert split from Ferdinand and Edelgard to grab his instrument and head to his own section. The lights were blinding when he settled into his spot as the first chair of the basses, but when weren’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Ferdinand approach to his seat from the other side of the stage, leading the orchestra in tuning as the concertmaster— how different it was to not see Edelgard do it. He watched Ferdinand’s proud expression, probably as if to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Look at me, I beat Edelgard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he took his seat and their orchestra director took the stand. They introduced the pieces they would be playing— Hubert didn’t care much for what they were. From the other side of the stage he watched Ferdinand and Edelgard bring their violins to their chins, and as the music commenced his gaze caught Ferdinand’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why was he always looking at him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert thought as he pulled his bow across the low strings of his bass. It seemed that almost every concert they would be tentatively watching each other— maybe to gauge each other’s skill? Maybe it was just their custom?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first song continued for a couple more minutes, longer than any song they had played the year before. But during that time Hubert watched the violin section as intensely as he played his own music, waiting for any sign that Ferdinand might have messed up. But the error never came (though Edelgard was still outperforming him, even from second chair).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their second song began with a solo. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ferdinand’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> solo.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps I wanted to see him succeed this time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s solo was much more complex than the small solo Edelgard had played at the beginning of the year before. If he messed up, it would be a sight to behold, since he was holding the attention of all of his peers and hundreds of strangers in the audience. But to Hubert’s dismay he performed it perfectly. He caught Edelgard’s smirk before the rest of the orchestra joined in.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was she trying to make him succeed for himself, for his parents, or for Hubert?</span>
  </em>
  <span> With the mixed emotions that stirred inside him— anger at Ferdinand’s pride, yet respect for his skill— Hubert thought that Edelgard’s goal was all of the above. Curse her for going behind his back to lift up Ferdinand; didn’t she know he still hated him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another song that the orchestra performed beautifully, their performance and the concert came to an end. Edelgard and Ferdinand caught up with Hubert as they were exiting the stage and heading back to the orchestra room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was amazing,” Ferdinand remarked as they slipped their instruments back into their cases. “I thought I would be so nervous, but every note I played felt natural.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s our first chair,” said Edelgard, smiling. “Although I promise I’ll take it back from you next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your reign is over,” he declared. “From now on, Ferdinand von Aegir will be the best violin and perpetual first chair of the Chamber 1 orchestra!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no way she’d lose to you again,” Hubert muttered, slinging his bass’s huge case around his back, almost as tall as him. He held his backpack in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “You’re just jealous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the only one who has consistently made first chair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but there’s only three basses and you guys never have any challenging parts anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t doubt Hubert’s skill,” Edelgard said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doubts mine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” he argued. “For what it’s worth, I think your solo was fine, and it was better than anyone else could have played it. Except Edelgard, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just say it was ‘fine’?” Ferdinand asked, standing with his backpack around his back and his violin case in his hand. He was still dressed in his concert uniform— that and the few inches Hubert had on him made him look like a well-dressed middle schooler, with no intimidating aura whatsoever. “What’s up with you complimenting me so much recently? Has the real Hubert been killed and replaced by a slightly nicer clone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d call you a pompous bastard and say your performance was fucking horrible, but Edelgard would get mad at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about last week when you congratulated me for beating you in the election?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was feeling generous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edelgard stood and placed a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to read too much into it. I, for one, am just glad you’re both back to normal. Now, Hubert and I are going to pick up frozen yogurt on our way home, want to come with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edelgard—” Hubert started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think my parents would let me. It’s already after nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we’ll go tomorrow after school!” She had a huge smile on her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was she doing? They never had plans to do anything after the concert.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, I’m sure that will be okay?” Ferdinand agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan! We’ve got to get going, but we’ll see you tomorrow!” Edelgard said, pulling Hubert out of the orchestra room with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that about? We don’t have any plans,” he hissed as they wove through the crowds of students and parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “I’m just trying to include him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been acting so strange lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called </span>
  <em>
    <span>being nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You should try it sometime, Hubert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thanks. Are you going to find your dad and go home with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, will you be alright at home tonight?” she asked, trying to look through the crowds of people outside the auditorium.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll see you tomorrow too.” She smiled at him. “Text me if anything happens!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he said as she weaved her way to her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert walked to his car alone with too many thoughts in his head— Ferdinand’s solo, Edelgard’s actions, and his own confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All I’m trying to do is make you two get along again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered the night last week where he got drunk out of his mind. He remembered their fight a few weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was all too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hubert wasn't one for thinking about his feelings to such a degree. So, for now, he would hide them away.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as Edelgard had predicted, everything returned to normal in due time. The remnants of Ferdinand and Hubert’s argument began to fade, and after the class officer elections and the first concert the two returned to their baseline of mutual annoyance and begrudging respect. Hubert had even returned to his spot in the cafeteria, across the table from Ferdinand, though the two would rarely speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the rest of sophomore year, Ferdinand never managed to get first chair. He never realized the stunt Edelgard had managed to pull off, and Hubert wasn’t allowed to tell him. Ferdinand’s victory seemed to be nothing more than a single stroke of good luck— after all, he still didn’t beat her in class elections (technically), their grades, and their class ranks, though he tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert, on the other hand, experienced the rest of his sophomore year with the usual gray, depressing filter splashed over his life by his family. Nothing changed except for his own periodic descents into drunkenness on the nights where he felt trapped in hell. Those moments became more common, and in turn so did the intrusive thoughts about his weird relationship with Ferdinand. He always pushed them away, and he moved forward for Edelgard’s sake only.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert helped her father buy the newest Xbox console and games for her for Christmas. She gave him an electric bass for his birthday after saving up money again. The memories of her past still haunted her at times, and he was always there for her. In return she was there to listen to him complain of his more frequent hangovers. And time passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Hubert the end of the school year was bittersweet. Although it had begun terribly— with half his schedule the same as Ferdinand’s, and the family problems, and the argument, and the elections, and the first chair test— time had cured most of the problems. He wasn’t ready to return home for the summer, back into the uncaring hands of his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he would take whatever opportunity he could to get out of the house— including a party. That’s how he ended up at Claude’s house on the Saturday night after school had ended, in the middle of a huge crowd with only Edelgard by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the first time Hubert had attended one of Claude’s ever-so-famous parties. He and Edelgard were there the year before, but they snuck out as soon as the cops were called. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to going again, but no matter what it was, it was better than staying at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like last year, the party was so big that Claude himself hadn’t even welcomed them in. When they arrived, they had to park a couple houses over and let themselves in through the front door. The house was in the same neighborhood as Ferdinand’s, Hubert had noticed this time when he drove them there— but this one was different. It didn’t have the same smug aura as Ferdinand’s, and it was much more trashed due to the ongoing party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert almost groaned as they welcomed themselves into the house brimming with people. The lights were dimmed and music was playing from somewhere deeper inside. Crowds of people stood together, talking and drinking. Some people he could recognize, but most were foreign to him— did they even go to Garreg Mach? He felt a headache coming on already— at least there would be free beer somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Edelgard! Hubert!” Claude greeted them as they wound their way through the house. He was sitting on his kitchen table, a plastic cup in his hand, surrounded by Hilda, Lorenz, and some older guy who Hubert could only assume was Hilda’s brother. They walked over to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fashionably late,” Hilda remarked. “I didn’t expect that from you, Ms. Perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert was running late. You know I wouldn’t be here without him,” Edelgard explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah. Where’s your other friend? You know… the one who was Claude’s secretary and looks kind of like a twink in denial.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name is Ferdinand,” Claude provided through his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you invite him?” Hubert asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claude shrugged. “Yeah, but last I heard he said he wasn't sure if he could make it. It’s a shame, I think he’d fit right in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The less the merrier,” Hubert muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “Maybe for you. But thanks for coming anyway, sometimes the party needs quiet people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. I’m only here for Edelgard and for the free drinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not free for me,” Hilda’s brother complained. “But I landed big when I got out of college two years ago, so it’s not like I can't afford it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’d do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> for me, right, Holst?” Hilda asked, clinging onto her brother’s arm. He swatted her away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky Dad got me a good job and I can pay for your wild parties,” he sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These aren’t wild.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last year the cops were called </span>
  <em>
    <span>three </span>
  </em>
  <span>times. There were multiple noise complaints from the neighbors. Claude got blackout drunk and tried to hang upside down off of the railing on the second floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to stop him,” Lorenz groaned. Claude’s face flushed pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I asked you guys to stop talking about that…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should really be watching your own actions, Claude. What if a video of you blackout drunk at sixteen years old ends up on Instagram?” Lorenz scolded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, stop,” Hilda said. “We’re here to have fun, and it’s not like he’ll get that drunk again this year. How many have you had so far?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been drinking from the same cup all evening, so one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how you count!” She punched his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch. The fridge is full of all kinds of drinks, feel free to help yourselves,” Claude muttered, acknowledging his guests. “There’s still a lot of people who aren’t here yet, and the party goes for as long as you want to stay. You can get in the pool if you want to for whatever reason. You two should know already to just stay out of the bedrooms if possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Edelgard said. “Hubert, you should go get a drink. Then let’s see who’s all here. We’ll see you around, Claude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert slipped through groups of people to the kitchen fridge. Inside there were a couple giant bottles of wine and tons of different types of beer— all brands he had never heard of before, so he assumed they must be the expensive ones. He grabbed a random can of beer and went to shadow Edelgard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The party dragged on through the night. Hubert watched Edelgard flock to each group of people, talking with people she knew. He listened to the music Claude had playing throughout the house, cursing himself for forgetting his earbuds. He boredly stood wherever Edelgard was, sipping his beer until the buzz came and scrolling through his Instagram feed on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour passed with nothing of note happening. Hubert had finished his drink long ago, but now they were outside by the pool and he didn’t feel like wading through the crowds of people to try to get into the kitchen for another. The sun was almost completely gone from the sky, with the twilight soon coming to an end. From the backyard he watched the back door swing open and closed with each person who came in and out, noting who all was present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when he saw a familiar swirl of orange hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ferdinand’s here,” he said to Edelgard, who sat in front of him with her feet in the pool. She leaned back to look at him, her face dark in the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s wrong with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “I was hoping this summer would be a reprieve from him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being too negative. This party is huge; you can avoid him easily,” she laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he groaned, standing from the flimsy beach chair he sat in. “I’m going to go grab another drink and find a quiet place to sit. Text me when you’re ready to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? We could leave right now if you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not return home yet. I’ll go shut myself in a bedroom and be careful not to make a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O—okay,” she agreed. “Please let me know if you need to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he said and headed into the house. He was careful to avoid Ferdinand, who was talking to a group of people on the other side of the pool— had he even noticed they were there? He grabbed a different beer to try this time and headed up the stairs. There was a game room with a bunch of people playing what looked like Mario Kart, and he was careful to sneak by them into the hallway with the bedrooms. He opened one door quietly— it was furnished plainly, with only a bed and a dresser and a nightstand. It must have been a guest bedroom or something. He shut the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert settled on the floor at the side of the bed, peering out the window next to him. It had a decent view of the backyard, and if he squinted he could make out Edelgard on the dark side of the pool, talking to Dimitri now. The group of people Ferdinand was talking to was gone, and he was nowhere to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How he wished he had his music.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The noise of the party leaked through the walls— if only he could force it away. Part of him wanted to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck it</span>
  </em>
  <span> and play some music for himself anyway, but he didn’t want people to find out that he had settled in this room. He set his head against the wall and resigned himself to scrolling various social media mindlessly until Edelgard was ready to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hubert?” a familiar voice asked— Ferdinand. He turned towards him. Ferdinand, surprisingly, wasn’t wearing his signature dress shirt and pants that he always wore to school. For once he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dressed in jeans and the orchestra t-shirt they got that year. “What are you doing in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to get away from the party,” he explained. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I was trying to find the bathroom. I wanted to get away for a minute, too. Can I sit in here with you instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert scoffed. “Sit with me? Why?” He took a sip of his beer and watched Ferdinand flinch at his immoral tendency of underage drinking. Ferdinand shut the door behind him without answering and sat on the floor a couple feet away from him. He leaned his head against the wall, looking at the window and the crowds of people beyond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s kind of exhausting,” he admitted. “I didn’t know Claude’s parties would be like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get used to it. How’d you even manage to come, anyway?” Hubert asked. The buzz in his head was growing stronger, and his filter was disappearing. If he hadn’t already been drunk, he wouldn’t have welcomed Ferdinand into the room so easily or have talked to him like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents went out of town this evening, and I walked over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up with the…” Hubert gestured at his clothes. “Not fancy stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand pulled on his t-shirt. “It’s too hot outside. What’s up with the beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being drunk helps in situations like these.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “Like, parties? Or talking to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I taste it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert held the can in both of his hands as if to protect it. “Fuck you. Get your own,” he said, his words without any ire towards Ferdinand for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if I drink it and I don’t like it? I wouldn’t want to throw it out!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then go get a new one, taste it, and give it to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to go back down there. Claude got super drunk and now he’s trying to beat Raphael in wrestling. Who knows what he’s up to now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrestling? Like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrestling</span>
  </em>
  <span>? On the floor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand nodded. “Of the living room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert handed the half-empty can over before he could regret his decision. To his almost-drunk, indecent mind, an indirect kiss sounded pretty interesting. Ferdinand took a hesitant sip, scrunched up his face, then handed the drink back to him. Hubert took a sip in turn, but all he could taste was beer. Disappointing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s disgusting,” Ferdinand said. “How can you drink it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Don’t know. It helps when you have a strong desire to not be sober.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand rested his chin in his hand. “Why do you feel like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, Ferdinand, this isn’t a fucking therapy session,” he laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to hold a conversation with you,” he scoffed, twisting the hem of his shirt around his fingers. “Do you want me to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hubert admitted, his voice small. “It’s a lot less boring with someone else in here.” He took another sip of the beer, hoping that he wouldn’t say something weird with his inhibitions beyond him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s talk about something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert sat there for a moment, the echoes of the music from the party reverberating in the small, quiet room. “Being drunk is nice sometimes,” he admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you drunk right now?” Ferdinand asked as if he was cautious of him, unsure how a drunk person would act.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, kind of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware of what I’m doing, but there’s not much of a filter. If I was sober I wouldn’t be talking to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch.” He paused, tapping his finger against his cheek to the beat of the sickly-sweet overrated pop music playing loud from downstairs. “Do you really hate me that much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what do you feel towards me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert grit his teeth. He was certainly sober enough to not spill the weird, intrusive thoughts he had, but he was too drunk to decipher how he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hell, he probably couldn’t even do it normally— it was something he had pushed away for the longest time as their relationship mended over the course of the school year. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Was Ferdinand feeling the same hesitation as him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine,” Hubert spat out. “I still pity you for your competitions with Edelgard. I know you won’t win. But your hard work is… respectable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this? A compliment?” Ferdinand smirked. Hubert felt his drunkenness tease him about that cute smirk; he tried to hide a blush. “But you’re wrong, I beat her in the first chair test of this year, if you remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert nodded, looking at the wall behind Ferdinand’s head, trying not to let the alcohol get the better of him. “You know she threw it to you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She purposely played worse than you to give you first chair.” He wasn’t sure if Edelgard still wanted to keep it a secret, but it was too late now. Besides, it would’ve come out some way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s mouth fell open for a full minute. “You… she… she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She said something about wanting to make us get along again. I don’t know what she was thinking, to be honest. I was pretty fucking mad about it at first,” he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… I’m still not going to give up.” Ferdinand pouted. Hubert had to look at the wall again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you feel about me?” he asked. Even though Ferdinand could be simple to read at times, tonight he had a hard grasp on him— if they were enemies, why did he want to come sit with him? And why did he bother making conversation? Was their relationship really improving?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re intense,” he said. He didn’t make eye contact either, and instead shifted his gaze outside the window. “But I understand why you hated me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand twisted the hem of his shirt again. “To you, I’m just some spoiled, rich kid who’s never experienced hardships before. When I started competing with Edelgard and arguing with you, it showed that I couldn’t accept the fact that I was second best— I couldn’t deal with obstacles in my way, although you and Edelgard have had to deal with obstacles for your entire lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you know about the obstacles I’ve faced?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fidgeted more, a pained look in his expression. “I… I heard rumors a while ago, and Edelgard told me.” He was quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So he’s known. Maybe that’s why their relationship had improved so much over the school year— he had Ferdinand’s pity. Ugh. Well, there wasn’t anything to do about it now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hubert chugged the rest of his beer, throwing away whatever inhibitions he had left. He slipped off the jacket he wore, exposing his thin arms and a couple of bruises which dotted them. “I guess you know now why you were such an asshole all those months ago,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ferdinand nodded. He seemed pained by the bruises on his arm; Hubert almost wished he would reach out to them. “I do. I’m sorry, Hubert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you are. Feels good to take that thing off, it’s hot as fuck in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are… you okay? Those don’t look good. I’m sure there’s someone we could call, and you could get out of there…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother,” Hubert cut him off. “There’s only ten more months until I turn eighteen, and I’ll be out of there as soon as that happens. And don’t worry about me. It feels weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. But I was the one in the wrong. If I had known earlier, I wouldn’t have acted like I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve matured,” he noted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve done a lot of thinking. I had always thought that whatever you went through was probably on par with what I have. But when I found out… it was like I saw you in a new light. Everything made sense,” Ferdinand admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents always push you to be the absolute best, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And they’re super overprotective. I wouldn’t have been allowed to come here if they didn’t go out of town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert paused. “I see how that’s made you the way you are. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t understand your expectations for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? Apologizing? I never thought the day would come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither would I,” Hubert said. “But I never thought there would be a day where we’d be at such a party together and we’d both end up talking like this. I never thought there would be a day that I didn’t hate you with every fiber of my being.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. Does… does that mean we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> now?” Ferdinand’s eyes grew wide, like he couldn’t accept the possibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no,” Hubert laughed. “This day has been crazy enough. We’re just rivals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just rivals, huh? I could get used to that.” He stood and stretched his hand out to Hubert. “Now, why don’t we celebrate our newfound rivalry with a competition in Mario Kart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert took his hand and stood, too. “I’m going to beat your ass,” he declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's no way. You’re way too drunk for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could beat you </span>
  <em>
    <span>asleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fucker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>(Ferdinand beat him three times.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: ferdinand's amazement.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Strings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a life-changing song.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaa this chapter is pretty late but i'm also in college now and i'm pretty busy. the fic will continue, just at a slightly slower pace! thank you for reading though !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ferdinand’s junior year of high school was almost completely unlike the years before.</p><p>First of all, that summer he had become friends with Edelgard and Hubert— well, he was friends with Edelgard before that, but the strange thing was his growing rivalry with Hubert. Neither of them hated one another anymore, and now they did more than just begrudgingly tolerate each other as Edelgard pushed them all into an actual friendship. The new step in his relationship with Hubert was quite the learning curve; the first time they texted outside of school-related affairs, Ferdinand had to quell his nerves. And when Edelgard invited them both over for her birthday in the summer, he had to remind himself of the soft Hubert he had encountered at Claude’s party. Not anymore was he the hateful, immature teenager of freshman and early sophomore year— not anymore was he secretive and volatile regarding his past.</p><p>To say the least, it was weird.</p><p>But there were still continuities in his life, and those existed far outside the realm of Hubert. Ferdinand’s parents were still as overbearing as ever. When he got his first car before the school year started, he barely managed to convince them not to install some invasive tracking app, citing his responsibility and lack of secrets toward them. (Although he never told them that he went to Claude’s party without their explicit permission— that would have been a death sentence.)</p><p>Going into his junior year he expected not to beat Edelgard in any of their competitions, but that didn’t mean his defeats were any less crushing. He couldn’t scrape ahead of her during the first few chair tests. When they auditioned for the regional orchestra, she got a higher chair than him as well. And the year’s officer elections resulted in a decisive tie, with Ferdinand winning secretary with no competition this year, and Edelgard winning vice president after running a much more polished campaign than Hilda. (Hubert didn’t care to run anymore, even if it meant a loss to Ferdinand.)</p><p>Despite everything, he enjoyed his newfound friendship with Edelgard and Hubert. They all had four classes and lunch together in junior year, which meant they spent a lot of time together throughout the day. They sat with each other when they could, talking and joking around as if nothing had happened in the past.</p><p>If you had told Ferdinand two years ago that these two— the girl who was always better than him and the guy who always hated him— would be his best friends, he would have called you insane. But, sitting at lunch with his two new friends, he was happy about it.</p><p>“I got a ninety-six on the APUSH test,” Edelgard sighed, staring at her phone. They sat in the crowded cafeteria, the same spot where Hubert and Ferdinand sat last year.</p><p>“Wait, the grades are in already?” Ferdinand asked, hurrying to pull his phone from his pocket, his mouth still half full of food.</p><p>“We don’t have the same teachers though.” She put her phone down and kept eating the spaghetti leftovers she brought.</p><p>Ferdinand checked anyway; his grade was still the same, and the test wasn’t in yet. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I studied a lot for it, but I was confused on a couple questions since they had vague answers.”</p><p>“You mean the ones about the early colonies? I think I missed those.”</p><p>“Imagine being sad about a ninety-six,” Hubert remarked, one earbud in and doing some homework due next period in their Precalculus class.</p><p>“It brought my grade down by two points!”</p><p>“<em> I’m </em> not sad about that,” Ferdinand chuckled. Edelgard narrowed her eyes at him.</p><p>“Tomorrow you’ll find out it brought your grade down too and you’ll be in the same boat,” Hubert quipped. He didn’t even look up from his homework. “I swear, it’s crazy being friends with the smart people.”</p><p>“You’re smart too,” Edelgard assured him.</p><p>“Wait, did you just call us <em> friends </em>?” Ferdinand asked, his mind stalling because of the unfamiliar term. Hubert stared at him like he was dumb.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry— it’s crazy being best friends with the number one in the class and rivals with number five in the class. Is that better?”</p><p>“Well… you called us friends!”</p><p>“I can tolerate you now. Is that <em> not </em>friendship?”</p><p>“I… don’t know?”</p><p>“Because, trust me, it would be easy for me to not tolerate you anymore.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Edelgard scolded. “And eat your lunch. There’s only ten minutes left until we have to go to class and I won’t let you go hungry.”</p><p>Hubert poked at the cafeteria chicken nuggets while doing limit problems. “Fine, <em> mom </em>.”</p><p>“And Ferdinand’s our friend now, whether you like it or not.”</p><p>“He’s my <em> rival </em>,” Ferdinand corrected, still unsure if he should use the term “friend” when referring to the guy who hated his guts not too long ago.</p><p>“I concur with fuckface.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s face grew hot. “<em> Language! </em>” he hissed. Hubert laughed.</p><p>But Edelgard was right— no matter what they called their relationship, the fact remained that they had finally become friends. Because for once, Ferdinand’s loneliness was nowhere to be found.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“<em> I’m </em> taking charge in this project, since we all know what happened last time,” Edelgard declared, snatching their AP English Language project rubric from Hubert’s hands. Ferdinand frowned.</p><p>They were assigned a simple, short project in one of the classes they all shared together that year. Since they had gotten along decently well in the beginning of the school year, it was only natural that they’d do this project together. But Edelgard still seemed to have apprehension about it.</p><p>“It would be different this time, right? I don’t hate his guts anymore,” he said, pointing at Hubert.</p><p>Edelgard shook her head. “There’s a <em> number </em> of things that could go wrong with this. First of all, you two could suddenly start to hate each other, which would leave me to do this all by myself. Second, Ferdinand could willingly sabotage this project in order to lower my grade in the class. Third, Ferdinand could get jealous and… mess this up somehow, I don’t know.”</p><p>“You have a lot of faith in me,” he sighed.</p><p>“She’s right. You have a lot of potential to mess this up,” Hubert added, with one constant earbud annoyingly in his ears, almost obscured by the hair that hung in front of his face.</p><p>“I didn’t expect you to have faith in me anyway,” Ferdinand muttered.</p><p>“Let’s see. It seems like all we have to do is read this speech we were given and make a rhetorical analysis presentation. Basically, an essay in powerpoint format,” Edelgard explained, her eyes scanning the page. “It’s due next Monday.”</p><p>“Will we have time to finish it in class?” Hubert asked.</p><p>“Well, I think on Friday we have a timed write, and two days in class to work on it doesn’t seem like enough time to really analyze this, much less put together an entire presentation.”</p><p>“We’re not going to my house this time,” Ferdinand said. Even if his relationship with Hubert was improving, he admitted that Edelgard was right— they shouldn’t repeat the mistakes they had made the year before. </p><p>“We’ll go to mine,” she decided. “Hubert, what days are you off?”</p><p>“Tonight and Friday only.”</p><p>“Friday sounds perfect!” She clapped her hands together, setting the rubric and speech on the table; Ferdinand grabbed it to read it himself. “We can work on this today and tomorrow, and then we can put it all together. After we’re done we’ll play video games.”</p><p>He winced at the memories of losing to Edelgard in Call of Duty from last year. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea for me and Hubert to exist in the same vicinity for longer than an hour?”</p><p>“I promise I’ll keep you two in check, as long as I get to plan the project.”</p><p>Ferdinand handed the rubric and speech to Hubert to read, leaning his chin on his hands. “That’s not fair. I want a say in it, too…”</p><p>“You’ll have enough of a say,” she dismissed. “Besides, don’t you want the <em> valedictorian </em> of our class to do the heavy lifting in this project?”</p><p>He sighed. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Great! Then we’ll meet at my house Friday after school to finish it. For now, I’ll analyze the first three paragraphs, Ferdinand will do the next three, and Hubert will get the last two.”</p><p>“Why does <em> he </em>get the least?” Ferdinand argued. Hubert looked up from his phone.</p><p>“Because he’s always busy.”</p><p>“So am I, with all the practicing I do. And the APUSH homework is no joke.”</p><p>“You’ll be fine,” she dismissed him again.</p><p>Ferdinand remembered Claude’s party a couple months ago, when he had found Hubert alone in a room. In his mind he could still clearly see the bruises on Hubert’s arms when he took his jacket off, and he could still hear the harsh words ring in his head from their arguments during their freshman and sophomore years. </p><p>That’s right. Because of his parents, Hubert always had to work harder than everyone else. His head was turned where his face was obscured by his hair, and he was watching their teacher talk to another in the hallway. His arms and neck were mostly covered by a jean jacket, but there was still an odd shade of tan on his neck where the makeup sat, just like the day in Physics last year.</p><p>“Alright,” Ferdinand said.</p><p>
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</p><p>After school on Friday, Ferdinand headed to Edelgard’s house with knots tied in his stomach. He followed Hubert’s car in his own, his GPS spouting the directions he barely remembered from last year. He tried playing classical music through his car’s speakers, but there was only so much a good concerto could do before his anxieties came crawling back through his mind.</p><p>He loved their friendship, and he was glad it had bloomed within the past few years, but there was something about the thought of Edelgard’s house that scared him. Maybe it was the lingering memories of their conversation the year before, where he had learned a lot about her, some about Hubert, and a little even about himself. Or maybe it was the fact that he would be with her and Hubert for the first time since their relationship had improved so much.</p><p>Or maybe he was overthinking all of this.</p><p>They arrived at her house, and Ferdinand pulled into the gravel driveway behind them. He pulled himself out of his car; Edelgard and Hubert were already waiting for him near the front door, with Hubert watching him, his expression unreadable. Ferdinand grabbed his backpack and followed.</p><p>“If we work hard, we could finish this in an hour and a half, which would leave us with enough time for me to kick your asses in one round of Call of Duty before Ferdinand has to leave for his private lesson,” Edelgard said when they arrived in her room. She sat her backpack on her bed next to her, and Hubert followed.</p><p>Ferdinand awkwardly sat at the desk, taking out his laptop and project notes from his backpack. “I’d prefer an extra thirty minutes of working on the project.”</p><p>“As would I,” Hubert muttered. “I’m surprised we can agree.”</p><p>“You two are no fun.” Edelgard skimmed through her own notes, which were multiple pages long. “Last night I finished the analysis of the first two paragraphs, so I only have one more to do before I’m ready to put it on the powerpoint.”</p><p>“Those notes are only for two paragraphs?” Ferdinand asked, suddenly insecure about his notes which were only two pages long.</p><p>She looked up. “I told you I wasn’t going to let a single detail go unnoticed. I noted everything I could possibly find, from the speaker’s sentence structures to their word choice and tone, and I wrote down every possible rhetorical device too.”</p><p>Ferdinand looked to Hubert for some sort of validation that Edelgard was insane. Hubert’s face, however, had its normal expression— a slight scowl.</p><p>“If you don’t think your notes are detailed enough, I could always review them for you,” she offered.</p><p>“N— no thank you, I’ll review them myself,” Ferdinand frowned. Hubert’s eyes kindled with amusement.</p><p>“I’m almost done with my part. I’ll make the powerpoint,” he added. It seemed like he had wanted to mock Ferdinand— he was relieved he held it in this time.</p><p>They worked in silence for a long while, with Ferdinand scribbling down whatever he could think of just to have notes which could compare to Edelgard’s. He was so tired after a long day— no, week— of school; he desperately wanted to give up, and to fling himself on the floor and promise he’d do the rest of his work later. But he couldn’t admit defeat, and he couldn’t leave his friends hanging when they agreed upon finishing the project that night. Most of all, he couldn’t do that to Hubert— to suddenly pull down his standards after their immense failure of a group project last year. He was a man of his word.</p><p>“Edelgard, would you like to see what all I have so far?” he asked, though she was still deep in her analysis of the third paragraph. “I want to make sure it’s right.”</p><p>“I’m sure it will be,” she said, taking the pages from his outstretched hand. She scanned his neat handwriting. “Yeah, the purpose is pretty much right. You could always explain more how the speaker’s words create an effect, though— that’s where pretty much everyone loses their points.”</p><p>“I was trying to keep my explanations concise.” He took the pages back from her.</p><p>“Well, that’s good, but there’s a thin line between concise and not enough.”</p><p>“And there’s a thin line between concise and too much,” he remarked and eyed the pages of notes she was still working on. Next to her Hubert frowned.</p><p>“Everything Edelgard has written is perfect, even if most of it won’t fit in the project,” he said while he typed away at his laptop, already assembling their presentation.</p><p>Ferdinand’s heart almost wrenched, but this wasn’t an angry Hubert. The seeds of an argument weren’t being sown here, no— they were simply watering the plant of friendly banter, something foreign to him. “Then isn’t it a little overkill?”</p><p>Edelgard smirked. “Overkill is what makes you number one.”</p><p>“Thanks for the secret. I’ll keep it in mind when I become valedictorian.” He turned back to his work.</p><p>“Like that’ll ever happen,” Hubert laughed.</p><p>“You’ll see one day!” Ferdinand started to add another sentence to his notes. <em>How was he supposed to explain the effect on the audience again?</em> <em>Should he ask Edelgard?</em> No— he just declared his potential victory over her! He’d never climb to rank one in their class without knowing how to explain a rhetorical device’s effect on an audience by himself.</p><p>“It looks like you’re struggling,” Hubert pointed out.</p><p>“I’m not struggling!” he declared as he pulled out his old notes on rhetorical analysis essays.</p><p>“You’re consulting your old notes.”</p><p>“I’m just making sure that my analysis is good.” Ferdinand pouted. He added a few sentences, hoping that they made sense— his brain was partially mush from the Chem test he had that morning and the timed write they did in class, so everything he wrote had the same hazy air of uncertainty that lingered among his thoughts. He stared at the words scribbled on the page for what felt like an hour, trying to make them better than anything Edelgard (or Hubert, at least) could’ve written. Then it was time to put all of his information on the presentation.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Hubert asked as Ferdinand was messing with the powerpoint’s format and themes.</p><p>“Um… making it look nice?” He selected another theme, which changed the background of the slides to black and changed the font so that the information was too big for the slides.</p><p>“We’re not being graded on how nice it looks.”</p><p>“<em> ‘Overkill is what makes you number one’ </em>,” Ferdinand quoted from Edelgard. A smile played on her lips as she reviewed her notes for the millionth time.</p><p>“Fine, then. We’ll play with the formatting once we have all the information in.”</p><p>“But that’s no fun. Can I make each bullet point have its own transition? Do we need pictures?”</p><p>“No and no.”</p><p>Ferdinand clicked on one of Hubert’s slides anyway and started adding transitions on all the text boxes. With his back turned he could still feel Hubert’s gaze on him, exasperated but surprisingly not angry.</p><p>“Why are you doing that?”</p><p>“I’m having fun, Hubert.” He turned around.</p><p>“Whatever. I’m done anyway,” Hubert said, rolling his eyes. If this had happened a year or two ago, Hubert surely would’ve been at his throat the second he dared mess with the project’s formatting. His new rivalry with Hubert was <em> weird </em>.</p><p>Edelgard plucked Hubert’s laptop from his hands and started adding in her own information. “Ferdinand, I’ll leave the design of the powerpoint to you. Give me ten or so minutes and I’ll have everything on my slides, anyway.”</p><p>“That sounds good.”</p><p>“You don’t need to leave until about four thirty, right? That gives us twenty minutes to finish this up for now… I would spend the rest of the time reviewing the information, but my dad’s had a stressful week and probably would want Hubert to leave when he gets home, so…” she mused to herself as she typed, “that should give us about an hour after Ferdinand leaves to practice our song.”</p><p>“An hour is fine,” Hubert said. “I can come over on Sunday after work.”</p><p>“Practice your song? Are you two preparing some violin-bass duet for solo and ensemble this year?” Ferdinand asked.</p><p>“No,” Hubert answered.</p><p>“Then what is it?”</p><p>“None of your business.”</p><p>He frowned. “What song is it?” he asked again, this time directing his question to Edelgard.</p><p>“Something I’m writing.” She turned the pages of her notes and kept typing.</p><p><em> She wrote music? </em> That was something Ferdinand didn’t expect. A burning desire to set pen to staff burned in his heart. “Can I see?”</p><p>She paused. “You’ll see it eventually. I need to finish typing this all in so I can go over your information before you have to go.”</p><p>Ferdinand looked to Hubert, seeing if his expression held any secrets about this so-called song. He was looking at his phone and scrolling through something with his earbuds in. Nothing showed on his face, not even a smug smile at the mention of Edelgard’s supposed talent for writing music.</p><p>“Do you even have your bass with you? I’d imagine it’d be a pain to carry over here and practice,” he said.</p><p>“It’s not for the double bass.”</p><p>Ferdinand crossed his arms. “So you play other instruments?”</p><p>“Do you not?” Hubert looked up— <em> here </em> was the smirk. “I would’ve thought someone so well-versed in music such as yourself would have the ability to play multiple things.”</p><p>“I— I can play piano!”</p><p>“Violin and piano. Pretty generic.”</p><p>And here was Hubert’s edge, though it was much softer now. He bit only with the force of a playful cat, rather than its apex predator cousin. Nothing he said scratched deep anymore— not like their argument in the fine arts hallway in freshman year, or their argument over the project in sophomore year.</p><p>That night at the party had really changed things, for whatever reason.</p><p>“They may be generic, but I’m pretty good at them. I can also read an alto clef, and I’m decent with a viola,” he bragged. “I’m sure your bass and mysterious other instrument don’t even hold a candle to my skills." Then he huffed, turning back to the project.</p><p>“We’ll see about that.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Ferdinand returned home from his private lesson that evening, ready to collapse on his bed and take a hard-earned nap. Not only did he have a long day, but he left his lesson with eleven different texts from Edelgard about his parts of the project he should adjust that night— and he still had dinner with his family and two hours of practicing his violin before he could even think about it again, much less his anticipated nap.</p><p>Dinner was almost ready, so he took a seat in the living room with his father to wait.</p><p>“How were your lessons?” his dad asked without looking up from the book he was reading.</p><p>“They went well. She said my bow strokes have become much more graceful in the past year, and now we’re working on sight reading complex pieces.” Ferdinand felt his body tense up in his father’s presence; every word he dared to say was calculated to avoid any anger.</p><p>He nodded. “And how did your project go? Who were your partners again?”</p><p>Ferdinand twisted the fabric of his shirt. He had only told his mom where exactly he was going— to his knowledge, his father didn’t know that he had paired up with Edelgard and Hubert. <em> What would he think? He hated Edelgard and her family, didn’t he? </em></p><p>“It went well too. I worked with…” he paused, garnering courage; his father didn’t notice it. “Edelgard and Hubert. Von Vestra.” <em> If he hated Edelgard, what did he think of Hubert? </em></p><p>A sour expression crossed his face, and Ferdinand’s stomach twisted. “Von Vestra, huh? I like the guy, but he always talks about how much of a troublemaker his son is.”</p><p>Hubert’s father. Ferdinand recalled the bruises that painted Hubert’s arms and the makeup that covered his neck and face. Of course his father wouldn’t know or care about that.</p><p>“A troublemaker?” he probed. “From what I’ve seen he can be somewhat standoffish, but not rude.” Neither of his parents knew about their history— not the arguments, nor their mending relationship and rivalry.</p><p>“Von Vestra says he’s always got the most terrible attitude at home. Refuses to do anything with his parents, always spends his time working or at that girl Edelgard’s house. Remind me, why are they your partners?”</p><p>Ferdinand straightened his posture, trying to conceal the anxiety that hummed along his heartbeat. The last thing he wanted was for his dad to disapprove of his new friendships, not when he was overcoming his loneliness. “We… we were sitting at the same table in class.”</p><p>“Surely you could’ve walked to another table and asked to be a part of their group.”</p><p>“Edelgard is number one in our class,” he added quickly. “I figured I could gain some insight on how she works, so I can improve my grades even more. Working with her was very helpful; she pointed out a lot of ways I could improve my analysis essays.”</p><p>His father paused, and Ferdinand’s heart almost leapt out of his chest. “Alright,” he said finally, “I’m glad it was helpful for you, then.”</p><p>He wished he could breathe a sigh of relief, but he noticed the disappointment which still laced his father’s words. How much longer could he keep his friendships, before his father eventually wrenched them away?</p><p><em> They’re my friends, </em> Ferdinand longed to say. The words danced on his tongue. <em> They’re my friends, and I don’t care what you might feel toward them or their parents, because they’re </em> my <em> friends. I want to be with them; I want to do more projects with them, I want Edelgard’s guidance and competition, I want Hubert’s quips. </em> He dug his fingers into the fabric of his pants. <em> I wanted my loneliness to fade. </em></p><p>Instead he plastered on a smile and said, “Me too.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Anxiety lingered in Ferdinand’s mind like a haze, almost invisible at times but still entirely there. It strengthened whenever he was with Edelgard and Hubert, as if he knew that he had to enjoy his time with them while he still could. It strengthened whenever he was in the presence of his father, as he felt the expectations which loomed over him in the same way.</p><p>It was mid-November now, a couple weeks after the project had been completed and his father’s reaction to it, and the beginning of their weeklong Thanksgiving break before their much-dreaded finals. And Ferdinand would spend most of it trying to find some way to get his parents to accept his new friends.</p><p>He was practicing his piano on the first Saturday of the break, home alone— his parents were on yet another business trip, and would be returning late that evening. The notes of Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major echoed through the empty house; his timing wasn’t quite right yet. If his parents were here they would be criticizing him, although they had never touched a piano key in their life. As far as they cared, the antique piano they had adorning the living room was mostly for decoration.</p><p><em> What could he do? What was there to do? </em> Ferdinand thought as he pressed on the keys with calloused fingertips. He had to accomplish two things— first, he had to show his father that Edelgard was a woman to be respected, despite her family and comparative greatness to himself. Second, he had to prove that Hubert didn’t fit his father’s descriptions.</p><p>It sounded easy, but both proved to be daunting tasks. The hatred between both his family and Edelgard’s and between Hubert and his father ran too deep to be unseated— each problem was out of his grasp. So he returned to his original idea, which was to have Edelgard and Hubert hang over at his house and meet his parents sometime during the break.</p><p><em> When could they come? </em> His father worked for most of this week, but he had secured time off in the latter half of the week for the holidays. Ferdinand would have to ask Hubert if he was off, but then another problem faced him— why the hell would they agree to meeting his <em> parents </em> ? Edelgard knew that they hated her, and Hubert probably hated them for that reason alone. <em> Should he explain his situation? What would they think? </em></p><p>Ferdinand felt his phone heavy in his pocket as his fingers danced on the piano keys, pressing them with the same ferocity he used to think. If Edelgard knew, there was a good chance she would be hell-bent on protecting their friendship— after all, she was the one who forced him and Hubert back onto better terms. Making Hubert tolerate him was nothing less of a miracle; she could do the same for her and his father, right? She could also convince Hubert to come, and then <em> that </em>problem would be solved…</p><p>He could have both of them over to his house later that week, but how would he justify it? They didn’t have anything at school to study for. They could practice their instruments together, but there was no way Hubert would lug his bass all the way to his house, even with Edelard’s convincing.</p><p><em> What else was there? That Thursday would be Thanksgiving, and… wait— </em> Thanksgiving? His parents would never let him do anything then, but he could invite them over that Friday or Saturday. His family always had too many leftovers anyway and… no, this was an <em> amazing </em>plan. Edelgard had mentioned offhandedly once that her and her father never had the time or money to put together an entire Thanksgiving meal, and Ferdinand assumed that Hubert never had a decent one either.</p><p>It was a bold plan, but a plan nonetheless.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ferdinand hadn’t anticipated how awkward it would be with Edelgard and Hubert at his house, in the presence of his parents.</p><p>As he suspected, Edelgard had enthusiastically agreed to the plan to protect their friendship, and she promised to present herself with as much grace as possible to try to change his father’s mind. Hubert, on the other hand, took some convincing, but he agreed after Ferdinand listed everything his family cooked for Thanksgiving.</p><p>But now, his confidence was leaking out of him as his father looked Edelgard and Hubert up and down at their front door. His hands trembled, and he resisted the urge to mess with the cuffs of his shirt or pick at his fingernails or show any of his other nervous habits.</p><p>“This is Edelgard and Hubert,” Ferdinand introduced hastily, trying to lead them into the house and away from his parents as fast as possible.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. von Aegir,” Edelgard said and lifted her hand up for a handshake.</p><p>His father took her hand, his expression unreadable. “It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Edelgard.” He lifted his hand out to Hubert, who took it in return. Unlike Edelgard he was obviously uncomfortable, but he tried to mask it. “You too, Hubert.” He only nodded.</p><p>“So, I think we’ll all go eat some leftovers and then hang out in the living room for a bit,” Ferdinand said, trying to inch backwards into his house toward the kitchen. His father didn’t move from the doorway.</p><p>“You’re going to eat?” he asked.</p><p>“Well, we never eat it all anyway!” Ferdinand gave a nervous laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. “I thought that they’d enjoy some.”</p><p>His father narrowed his eyes, but he stepped out of the doorway. Edelgard and Hubert walked in. “That sounds fine, then. Make yourselves at home.” He went back into the living room.</p><p>“What the fuck was <em> that </em>?” Hubert muttered under his breath, almost inaudible.</p><p>“I don’t know! I was panicking!” Ferdinand whispered back.</p><p>“Relax, you two. I think we started out on the right foot.” Edelgard whispered. “Let’s go eat. I haven’t had anything today.”</p><p>Ferdinand led them into the kitchen and showed them the food. His stomach was in knots, but he still made a small plate so Edelgard and Hubert wouldn’t feel out of place. His mom came into the kitchen to make small talk with them, and she ended up sitting with them at the dining room table.</p><p>“Edelgard, I’ve seen you at the orchestra concerts. You really do play beautifully,” she said, fawning over her and watching her eat.</p><p>“Thank you,” Edelgard said after swallowing a mouthful of food. Her face was dusted with a blush from his mom’s compliments. “I’ve played since I was seven, and I practice very often. Though I’ve heard that Ferdinand here practices more than me. Maybe he’ll become the best in the orchestra someday?” She looked at him, as if to say “<em> be grateful for the compliments, I’m doing this only so your dad will like me” </em>.</p><p>“Oh wow,” his mom said, looking at him. “He does work very hard. Hearing him practice for two hours every night after dinner is one of my favorite times of the day. Have you heard him play piano, too?”</p><p>To Ferdinand’s right, Hubert scarfed down his food, seemingly glad to be ignored in the conversation. He didn’t even have his earbuds in today— an agreement they came to in order to make him look more respectable to his father.</p><p>“I haven’t, yet, but I was wondering if he would play for us after this?” Edelgard said.</p><p>Ferdinand almost spit out his food. “I— I could try.”</p><p>“Oh, wonderful! He performs a breathtaking <em> Clair de Lune </em>. Do you play any other instruments?”</p><p>“Not as well as I do violin,” she admitted. “I’m decent at the other string instruments, and I know my way around a guitar.”</p><p><em> A guitar? </em> Ferdinand wasn’t sure if he had seen one in Edelgard’s house before. <em> Was that the mysterious instrument she had been practicing with Hubert? </em> </p><p>“Hubert plays the bass,” Edelgard added, trying to include him in the conversation.</p><p>“Wow, really? The big basses in the orchestra or the electric one?” his mom asked. She seemed a lot less interested in him compared to Edelgard.</p><p>“Both,” and then he added, “I play both,” to make him seem less standoffish.</p><p>“Amazing,” she said, and she turned back to talk to Edelgard more.</p><p>“I didn’t know you played the electric bass,” Ferdinand said in a low voice to Hubert.</p><p>He shrugged. “So? That just means I can play more instruments than you.”</p><p>“Isn’t that only two?”</p><p>“I can play viola.”</p><p>“Since <em> when </em>?”</p><p>“I started out playing viola, actually. Switched to bass after a year.” He shoved an entire slice of turkey in his mouth.</p><p>Ferdinand frowned. Maybe he should get more serious about learning the viola, too, and then he’d be one step closer to playing more instruments than Hubert. <span>As it stood, he really couldn’t play it better than someone who had </span><em><span>actually</span></em><span> played it after a year.</span></p><p>He tried to eat his food, but his appetite disappeared completely when his father joined them at the table. He sat next to his mom and across from Ferdinand and Hubert, whom he eyed suspiciously as if he was a delinquent who would steal everything expensive from the house and make a run for it. Ferdinand made awkward eye contact with him.</p><p>His father paused for a minute, sizing up Hubert and Edelgard, before he spoke. “Ferdinand here told me that you three worked on a project together a couple weeks ago. How did it turn out?”</p><p>A simultaneous shock ran through Ferdinand, Edelgard, and Hubert as the atmosphere at the dining table changed from light hearted to one of intense pressure. Edelgard, however, recovered first. “It went well! There’s no way we didn’t make a one hundred. Although we <em> still </em> don’t have our grades back— our teacher is notoriously slow at grading. We should know by sometime on Sunday.”</p><p>Ferdinand looked at Edelgard with panic in his eyes. <em> How did she lie so easily to him? They already knew their grades— they each got a ninety-six. </em>But there was no hint of deception in her expression. If he himself hadn’t known better, he would’ve never believed she was lying.</p><p>“If Ferdinand was in the group, I’m sure it would be,” his father grunted, as not only praise for his son but also a thinly-veiled threat for if he didn’t meet his expectations.</p><p>“Oh, of course. I helped him with some parts, but in my opinion, his part of the project turned out better than my own,” Edelgard said with a convincing smile on her face, but a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t like her to put herself down, especially in favor of Ferdinand, but such were the measures they must take to ensure his dad liked them.</p><p>“You’re number one in the class, aren’t you?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes sir,” she answered, polite but not elaborating. Perfect.</p><p>His dad sighed. “Well, congratulations. I’ve known your father for many years now, I’m sure he’s proud of you.”</p><p><em> Edelgard’s father </em>. For a moment, a pained look crossed her face. “I almost forgot our parents knew each other. My dad speaks highly of you at home, Mr. von Aegir. You’re one of his most trusted employees.”</p><p>His father narrowed his eyes, as if he knew it was a lie but was still tempted to give into the blatant flattery. Ferdinand hoped that the flattery would win. “I do work very hard for your father,” he said. “Though, as of late I have been working with von Vestra. He is yours, is he not?” He turned to Hubert, whose eyes widened in panic.</p><p>“Yes, that’s my dad,” he said, wiping whatever fear there was off of his face. When they had planned this, Hubert had hoped that he wouldn’t have to speak, since he didn’t know how to suck up to his dad without vomiting. “He does a lot for my family. I’m grateful for him.” The disgust that lined Hubert’s words was clear to Ferdinand; he hoped it wasn’t obvious to his dad.</p><p>“Really? He’s told me a lot about you,” his father said. <em> Von Vestra says he’s always got the most terrible attitude at home. </em>Ferdinand winced.</p><p>“Has he?” Hubert challenged. </p><p>His father paused— certainly he wouldn’t repeat what Hubert’s father thought of him so plainly. At least, that was what Ferdinand hoped. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “He told me that you… tend to cause trouble at your house.”</p><p>Ferdinand watched as Hubert lifted his hand to his neck, covering the bruises which were already covered by makeup. <em> Did his father know about that? </em> Hubert’s lips twitched into a frown, but only for a moment before he resumed his façade. “I used to be misguided,” he lied. “But recently I’ve come to appreciate my family and listen to them.”</p><p>“I heard you spend a lot of time with Edelgard.”</p><p>“That’s only natural if she’s my girlfriend,” Hubert replied without hesitation. To Ferdinand’s left, Edelgard looked away and hid her face as if blushing. It was a seamless lie— but why did they have to lie about something like that?</p><p>“Oh, congratulations,” his mom said, though she only directed her praise toward Edelgard.</p><p>“Yes,” added his father. “It does seem like you’ve realized the errors of your ways. I’m glad you seem to have reconciled with your father now; von Vestra really is one of the better men at the firm.”</p><p>Ferdinand saw Hubert clench his fists underneath the table. “He is.”</p><p>“If you’re dating,” his mom chimed in, “then why don’t you two sit together? I’ll move.”</p><p>“Hubert <em> hates </em> public displays of affection,” Edelgard explained. “If I went over there and kissed him right now in front of everyone, he’d break down.”</p><p>“Aw, you don’t have to be nervous about dating such an amazing young woman!” his mom said, getting up from the table. “Your father and I will leave you three alone now if that’s what you want. I actually wanted to take him shopping with me today, if it’s alright for you all to be alone for a while.”</p><p>Ferdinand nodded. Relief washed through his body. “That’s fine.”</p><p>“Are you ready to go, Ludwig?”<br/>His father sighed and stood. “I guess. Ferdinand, keep your eyes on those two.”</p><p>When both of his parents had left, Ferdinand collapsed on the table. “That was so scary,” he mumbled.</p><p>Hubert sighed. “You had <em> no. Idea. </em> I was <em> this </em> close to throwing up!”</p><p>“Throwing up? Sounds nice. If I had to put myself down <em> one more time </em> I would’ve just stopped and gouged my eyes out,” Edelgard said.</p><p>“I’m so sorry. I really owe you guys one.”</p><p>“You owe us, like, <em> fifty </em> ,” Hubert spat. “Do you know what I did the other day? I went to my dad and <em> pretended to get along with him for three days </em>before this so that your father would believe me.”</p><p>Ferdinand lifted his head from the table and placed both of his hands on Hubert’s shoulders. “I. Am. <em> So. </em> Sorry.”</p><p>“I even pretended to be in love with Edelgard for you!”<br/>She laughed. “That part was funny, though. You have to admit it.”</p><p>“<em> Funny </em>? Pretending I’m straight isn’t funny!”</p><p>“Wait—” Ferdinand said, taking his hands away from Hubert’s shoulders. “You’re…”</p><p>Hubert narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I’m gay. What, is there a problem?”</p><p>“No! No— there’s no problem,” he corrected, running his fingers through his hair. “I just… didn’t expect it, I guess? Is that why you pretended to be dating her? So my dad wouldn’t think you were?”</p><p>“I figured there was a good chance my dad would’ve complained about his <em> ‘faggot son’ </em> to yours. So if I pretended to have a girlfriend, I would’ve shown that ‘I had changed’ or whatever. No offense, but I didn’t trust your dad to not be homophobic.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s brain was slow to process everything that had just happened. “So… you… my dad knew about it?”</p><p>“Did you see the disgust in his eyes when he saw me? There’s no way he didn’t know about it,” Hubert scoffed. “Anyway, how long do you think they’ll be gone? We’re leaving before they get back.”</p><p>“Yeah, there’s no way I’m doing <em> that </em> again,” Edelgard said. She pushed away her empty plate and set her chin on her hands. “I think we performed well enough today. Next time we’re going to act normally.”</p><p>“My mom usually spends a while shopping. You two could maybe stay for the next hour or two safely, although there’s really not much to do here.”</p><p>Edelgard pushed herself up from the table. “I think I want to hear you play <em> Clair de Lune </em>,” she said with a smirk. “After that, Hubert and I have matters to attend to this afternoon.”</p><p>She went to rinse her plate in the sink. Hubert stood too. “We’re still a ways away from our song being presentable,” he added.</p><p>Ferdinand swiped his and Hubert’s plates, trying to be a decent host. “I’ll get this,” he muttered. “What’s the song for?”</p><p>“Once again, it’s none of your business,” Hubert said as they joined Edelgard in the kitchen.</p><p>“Oh! Is this the song you two mentioned when we worked on the project?”</p><p>“Yep,” said Edelgard with a triumphant glitter in her eyes. “We finally finished writing it recently, and now we’ve almost got it perfect. Just in time, too.”</p><p>“In time for what?”</p><p>“The talent show,” she said, nonchalant.</p><p>“There’s going to be a <em> talent show? </em>” Ferdinand asked, his eyes wide. He almost dropped the plates he was washing in the sink. “Why didn’t I hear about this?”</p><p>Edelgard leaned against the kitchen island. “I received intel from Dorothea that the theater troupe will be hosting a small talent show two weeks after we come back from the break. They’re going to announce it this Monday.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s mind raced with all the possible solos he could perform, too distracted by the possibility of his own performance to question further about Edelgard and Hubert’s song. “If you two are performing, then that means I have to as well.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Hubert muttered. “There’s no way you’ll beat us.”</p><p>“We— we’ll see about that!”</p><p>Edelgard laughed. “I’m sure we will. Hubert and I should get going so we can practice before my dad comes home. See you on Monday!”</p><p>
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</p><p>The day of the talent show approached faster than Ferdinand expected.</p><p>As soon as Edelgard and Hubert left his house that day over the break, he charged upstairs to page through all of the solos he had learned and find the best one he could possibly relearn and perform in two weeks. He added another hour of practice every night, just for the solo. And as he sat backstage before the talent show began, he worried that it wasn’t quite enough.</p><p>It was a dark Saturday night in December, and Ferdinand had arrived an hour early while the talent show was still being set up. He tried to make small talk with Claude and Dorothea as they were dragging out tables into the fine arts hallway and adorning them with all sorts of food and drinks, but they shooed him away until they had finished setting it up.</p><p>Ferdinand considered sneaking into a spare practice room in the orchestra room, but the door was locked and he didn’t want to practice backstage where the other contestants were already gathering. So he sat himself backstage, his violin in its case by his side, trying not to pull all of his hair out because of the stress. Twenty minutes later, Edelgard and Hubert showed up, toting what looked like guitar cases on their backs and amps in their hands.</p><p>Compared to Ferdinand they were dressed a lot more simply. He was wearing a suit— the ideal picture of poise, while they were each wearing bleach-stained band t-shirts and ripped jeans. Bright crimson eyeshadow adorned Edelgard’s eyelids, and Hubert was wearing a stark, black leather jacket.</p><p>“I’m excited to hear you perform,” she said as she set her things down and took a seat next to him. Her eyes moved to his hands, where he was twisting the fabric of his suit. “Though you look a little nervous.”<br/>“Me? Nervous? Never!” Ferdinand declared, straightening his posture and tearing his hands away from their nervous habits. Hubert gave him an incredulous look.</p><p>“Are your parents here?” Edelgard asked.</p><p>“Thankfully, they’re on yet another business trip,” he sighed. “That’s not what’s making me nervous.”</p><p>“So you <em> are </em> nervous,” Hubert said. “Is it because you’ll have to follow up our show-stealing performance?”</p><p>“If anything, I’ll one up you,” he declared and crossed his arms. “I just… haven’t performed a solo in front of a crowd in so long.”</p><p>“You did well last year,” Edelgard mentioned.</p><p>“Yeah, well this solo is a lot longer!”</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert said, “you are the second best violin in the school. What do you have to be worried about?” His compliment rang in Ferdinand’s mind, even if it was back-handed.</p><p>“I—” he sputtered. Hubert shook his head.</p><p>“You’re annoying when you’re overly confident, but even more so when what confidence you have fails you.”</p><p>“Wow. I didn’t think you of all people would be giving me a pep talk,” Ferdinand admitted, still dazed by his unabashed decency.</p><p>“Don’t get used to it. We’re still going to wipe the floor with you.”</p><p>“Speaking of which,” Ferdinand muttered as he eyed their instrument cases. “I’m ready to hear your oh-so-mysterious song.”</p><p>Edelgard smirked. “We’re ready to perform, although we’ll have to wait until after intermission…” she sighed. “Claude, Hilda, and Sylvain have their rendition of <em> Steamed Hams </em> before us. I hope it’s not so over-the-top that it upstages us, but it is Claude we’re talking about.”</p><p>“It’s a high school theater kid reenactment of <em> Steamed Hams </em> . With Hilda playing the <em> oven </em>. How good are you expecting it to be?” Hubert asked.</p><p>“...You’re right.”</p><p>“We’ve worked on our new song for over a month now. We’ve practiced almost every day. There’s no way we’re going to lose unless we suddenly forget the lyrics or music or something,” Hubert assured her.</p><p><em> Lyrics? </em> Now Ferdinand was even more curious to hear the song. What kind of song would Edelgard be likely to write?</p><p>She sighed. “I know I have the words stuck in my head, and the music is muscle memory by now, but even then I’m worried about forgetting them. I think I need to go stress-eat some of the free concessions before the show starts. Ferdinand, would you care to join us?”</p><p>“Stress-eating some of Dorothea’s homemade cookies sounds wonderful,” he said.</p><p>“Not if I stress-eat them all before you do.”</p><p>Edelgard and Ferdinand raced to the hallway to see who could eat the largest amount of Dorothea’s cookies; Hubert just watched and sipped the free coffee that was provided. Between the cookies Ferdinand made small talk with everyone he knew as the general audience began to arrive— he greeted a couple people from orchestra, someone he recognized from his Chemistry class, and even Lorenz, who had heard of his solo. By seven, Claude ushered all of the performers backstage and the show began.</p><p>Ferdinand watched each act as Dorothea’s half-digested cookies churned in his stomach (maybe eating seven of them was a <em> little </em> too much, but he had to have more than Edelgard, of course). There weren’t many stand out acts— Leonie juggled on a unicycle, which Ferdinand thought was kind of impressive, and Ingrid recited an emotional piece of poetry about a knight.</p><p>While he watched the acts from the side of the stage, he left his eyes drift to Hubert. He was standing in front of him, next to Edelgard, watching the acts and waiting for their performance. His hair seemed messier than usual, as if Edelgard had ruffled it to give them a more punk-like appearance. Bracelets snaked their way around his wrists, and his fingernails were painted black.</p><p><em> Why was he thinking about Hubert’s appearance like this? </em> As far as he knew, these kinds of thoughts had never gone through his mind. But ever since the party last year— no, was it more recent, like when Hubert had started acting nice? Or two weeks ago when he found out he was gay?— Ferdinand found himself thinking about Hubert a lot more. Hubert and his nice but backhanded compliments. Hubert and his stupid bangs that covered half his face. Hubert and his unfortunate home life, and the bruises which were always covered by makeup layered too thick on his skin.</p><p>Ferdinand dispelled his thoughts.</p><p>Before long the intermission came, and Ferdinand and Edelgard once again raced off into the hallway to stress-devour the rest of Dorothea’s cookies. After the intermission, there would only be a few acts until Ferdinand performed— Claude’s act, Edelgard and Hubert’s act, and then <em> his </em>.</p><p><em> Oh God </em>, he thought as he ate another cookie.</p><p>“Stop eating them all,” Dorothea said as she smacked Ferdinand’s eleventh cookie of the night out of his hand. “They’re for our <em>audience</em>. Same goes for you, Edie!”<br/>Edelgard looked like a deer in the headlights. “We’re <em>nervous</em>, Dorothea.”</p><p>“Edie and Ferdie? <em> Nervous </em> ?” Dorothea placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “You two are both amazing. Edie, the recording of the song you sent me was <em> beautiful </em>. There’s no way you’re going to mess it up. And Ferdie, I’m sure your solo is just as beautiful.”</p><p>“I have to beat Edelgard!” he announced and tried to steal another cookie. Dorothea plucked it from his fingers.</p><p>“No more cookies for either of you.” She dragged them away from the table and placed them next to Hubert, who sipped another cup of coffee, amused. “Watch them, Hubie.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,” he muttered.</p><p>“I’ll call you whatever I want,” she insisted, placing a finger to Hubert’s chest. “Now, if you excuse me, Petra is here and hasn’t had a chance to try my cookies yet.”</p><p>“How assertive,” Ferdinand shuddered as she walked away.</p><p>“That’s a theater kid for you,” Hubert sighed. He checked the time on his phone. “You two have been eating cookies for ten minutes. Intermission is about to be over.”</p><p>Edelgard took a deep breath and rested her head on his shoulder. A weird feeling shot through Ferdinand’s heart. <em> Jealousy? </em> “I don’t know how you’re so calm, Hubert,” she said.</p><p>“The coffee helps.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ferdinand pointed out.</p><p>Hubert shrugged. “At least I didn’t stress-eat twenty cookies. I’m sure the sugar in those is worse than the caffeine in this.”</p><p>“I only ate, like, ten!”</p><p>“Yeah, and so did Edelgard. Twenty between both of you.”</p><p>Ferdinand turned toward the snack table. “I have to go eat one more to win.”</p><p>Hubert, however, grabbed his wrist. “Did you hear Dorothea? You’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>He looked down at Hubert’s hand— adorned with the stupid bracelets and rings and black nail polish— and felt his face heat up at the sight of it. His hand was warm.</p><p>“L— let go of me,” he stuttered, not authoritative whatsoever.</p><p>“Do you <em> want </em> to go onstage and vomit half-digested cookies everywhere?” he asked. Ferdinand shook his head. “Okay. Until we go backstage again, I’m holding you here.”</p><p>For the rest of the intermission, Ferdinand stood with Hubert and Edelgard, his brain short-circuiting due to the fact that <em> Hubert was holding his wrist </em>. He felt utterly helpless, like a teenage girl in a rom-com movie, unable to do anything except look away to hide the blush on his face.</p><p><em> Wait— </em> something else dawned on him. He was standing there, with Hubert holding his wrist, and <em> he was blushing like a helpless teenage girl in a rom-com movie </em>.</p><p>Why the <em> hell </em> was Hubert, of all people, making him <em> blush </em>?</p><p>He shook away his feelings and Hubert’s hand, but he still didn’t let go. His face was turned toward Edelgard’s, talking to her about their upcoming act. Ferdinand thought he could see a hint of pink on his cheeks— well, it <em> was </em> hot, since the school had the heater cranked up for winter and there were tons of people crowded in the hallway.</p><p>Before Ferdinand could address the tension, Claude passed by and told them to head backstage again. Hubert dropped his wrist; it felt empty, now. He followed them backstage.</p><p>Claude, Hilda, and Sylvain’s rendition of <em> Steamed Hams </em> passed by all too quick. He watched Edelgard pull out strands of her hair during the whole act, and he resisted the urge to pull out his own. After all, he was just as nervous as she was— not only did he have his own performance on his mind, but also hers and Hubert’s as well.</p><p>After their act, Claude, Hilda, and Sylvain gave their bows and exited the stage. One of the theater seniors helped Edelgard and Hubert set up their amps and mics; a screech resounded through the auditorium as they checked the audio.</p><p>“Next up, Edelgard von Hresvelg and Hubert von Vestra as <em> The Emperor’s Misfits </em>, performing an original song,” the senior introduced and left the stage.</p><p>Edelgard smiled, completely masking the anxiety she had shown before. “Tonight, Hubert and I are making our debut as <em> The Emperor’s Misfits </em> ,” she said as if rehearsed, “even though we don’t have our drums yet. Please listen to our first song, <em> Poisonmouth </em>.”</p><p>The air in the auditorium stilled as Edelgard and Hubert lifted their instruments. Ferdinand took a step forward, hiding himself behind the curtain on the side of the stage. Edelgard tapped her foot four times before the song started.</p><p>At first Ferdinand didn’t know what to think— he was just as dumbstruck as a few minutes ago when Hubert held his wrist tight. The music rushed through him; he felt himself holding his breath. The red of Edelgard’s guitar was in stark contrast to the dark colors she wore, and her fingers moved wildly through chords on the strings. Hubert played the low notes— the supporting sound to Edelgard, as always— and he was drawn to him.</p><p>When he started singing, another shock went through Ferdinand’s spine. His voice alternated between low and gravelly and smooth; he didn’t expect him to be such a decent singer, much less to sing at all. Before, Ferdinand would have imagined his singing voice to be anything but pleasant, but now it enchanted him so much that he almost didn’t hear the words themselves.</p><p>For such an upbeat melody, the song itself sounded so depressing. Hubert sang and screamed of pain, heartbreak, and even his father, with Edelgard supporting his vocals. It sounded so <em> raw </em>, Ferdinand thought. It was like he was back in his Algebra II class, overhearing the rumors about Hubert, or at the party where Hubert himself confirmed them— when he was forced from the bubble he lived his life in, forced to confront his mistakes and misconceptions. Even Edelgard’s words were laced with the same pain as when she told him her story at her house the year before.</p><p>And then there was Hubert playing the electric bass. Ferdinand had never heard one before— he exclusively listened to classical music, so most modern-day instruments were lost on him. But the low, reverberating notes echoed in his ears, and the sight of him standing straight but slightly hunched over his instrument was enough to make his heart pound. The bracelets on his arms shook as he moved to the beat. He noticed that his hair was tied back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck.</p><p><em> What… were these feelings? </em>Before recently, he hadn’t ever seen Hubert in this light. It was only a year ago that they hated each other and clashed at every opportunity. But now— especially after the party last year, especially since Hubert had just held his wrist— everything in his mind became muddled.</p><p>Ferdinand clutched at the curtain he hid behind, trying not to collapse onto the ground.</p><p>After what felt like hours the song ended. Edelgard and Hubert basked in the applause, then they helped set the stage for Ferdinand’s act and exited. He looked up at them as they walked by, still overwhelmed by their performance.</p><p>“Th— that was great,” Ferdinand managed.</p><p>Hubert smirked. “Of course it was.”</p><p>Edelgard placed a hand on his shoulder; surprisingly, it was trembling. “Break a leg,” she whispered, and nodded to his violin case and music stand. He hurried to unpack it, slipping on his shoulder rest and tightening his bow.</p><p>“Break a leg,” Hubert repeated.</p><p>Ferdinand nodded.</p><p>Claude led him out onto the stage, placing his music stand in the middle. Ferdinand arranged the pages so he could see all of them, though he was sure he had memorized it from all the practice he had done in the past two weeks. He smiled to the audience and assumed an aura of confidence, the stage lights blinding him as they always did during his concerts.</p><p>“Next up we have Ferdinand von Aegir performing the, uh…” Claude said as he checked his notecard, “Concerto in A minor, third movement!”</p><p>Claude left the stage, and Ferdinand took a deep breath, bringing his instrument to his chin. He set his bow to string.</p><p>He began the song exactly how he had practiced it— strong and confident. His surroundings blended away as he let himself fall into the music he played. The only thing that mattered were the notes resounding from his violin. Not the anxiety from before. Not the rollercoaster of emotions he had ridden during Edelgard and Hubert’s performance. Not whatever weird emotions lingered on his mind.</p><p>The volume was dynamic. He hit every note with precision, even the ones in the strings of sixteenth notes and the ones high up on the E-string. While he played, he felt invincible— it didn’t matter if he won or not, because he knew he already proved himself worthy enough.</p><p>Ferdinand’s solo ended after a few short minutes. He bowed as the ravenous applause followed, feeling his heart pound and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He smiled again as he exited the stage with his violin and music stand, and then promptly collapsed as soon as he was out of view.</p><p>“You did <em> amazing </em>,” Edelgard reassured him, taking his instrument from him and putting it back in the case. “Did you see the audience? They were captivated by you.”</p><p>“They were captivated by you, too,” Ferdinand said, though he himself was too captivated by their performance to watch the audience’s reaction.</p><p>“Yes, but I’m not sure how popular punk songs are with them.” She gave a small laugh. “You might win this.”</p><p>“There’s no way. Yours was better than mine.”</p><p>Hubert scowled. “Have some confidence, von Aegir.”</p><p>“No,” Ferdinand said, his face heating up as he looked at Hubert. “I really mean it. I… I don’t know what I was expecting, but your song was the epitome of amazing. I don’t have the words to explain it. I was truly captivated by it.”</p><p>Edelgard smiled. “That means a lot from you, Ferdinand. Now let’s sneak into the hallway— I think we deserve some cookies.”</p><p>“No more cookies for either of you,” Hubert said and grabbed both of their wrists. Ferdinand stared at the ground. “We’re staying back here until they announce the winner.”</p><p>“Okay,” they agreed.</p><p>Now that both of their acts were over, time passed too slow. Each remaining act felt like hours— even the more entertaining ones, such as Felix’s stand-up routine about working at the grocery store, including a trio of kids at the school who would always come in and buy all of the milk. Hubert had a pained yet distant expression on his face for most of the routine; Sylvain was doing a terrible job of stifling his laughs backstage.</p><p>It was past nine when Claude and the other theater officers took the stage to announce the voting process. They directed everyone to the QR code for the voting form, then they played some improv game to pass the time while the results were collected. Ferdinand scanned a code backstage and didn’t hesitate to select Edelgard and Hubert’s performance.</p><p>After the improv game, one of the theater seniors took to the middle of the stage. “And the winner of the first annual Garreg Mach talent show is… drumroll please…” —he looked at his phone— “<em> The Emperor’s Misfits </em> !” </p><p>Claude coaxed Edelgard and Hubert back onto the stage, where they gave bows and awkward smiles to the roaring audience. Ferdinand wasn’t even disappointed. His solo was good, but Edelgard writing their own music was on a new level. He smiled at them from backstage; Hubert glanced at him and returned it briefly.</p><p>“In second place, we have Felix Fraldarius’s stand up routine!” Claude announced. Felix came onstage from the other side.</p><p>“And in third place,” Dorothea continued, glancing offstage, “Ferdinand von Aegir’s violin solo!”</p><p>Ferdinand joined them, his heart beating against his chest from both Hubert’s smile and his third-place victory. Dorothea handed him a small trophy.</p><p>“I told you that you’d do wonderful, Ferdie,” she whispered to him.</p><p>“I’m happy with it,” he said, holding the trophy close to his chest.</p><p>He had lost to Edelgard and Hubert once again, but it was a loss that he truly didn’t mind. After everything that had happened that night— and everything that had happened through the course of their lives— they deserved it. They deserved to have their voices heard.</p><p>Ferdinand gathered his things and was almost out the door before he heard Edelgard calling for him.</p><p>“Ferdinand!” she screamed through the hallway, too delighted by her win to care about what noise she made. He turned around; she was running through the crowd of people, pulling Hubert behind her. “Wait for us!”</p><p>“What’s up?” he said.</p><p>“We wanted—” she panted, “sorry, running with all this stuff is hard.” She took a deep breath. “Do you want to come with us to get ice cream? As a celebration?”</p><p>There was a hint of a smile on Hubert’s face. Ferdinand returned it, beaming.</p><p>“It’ll be on me.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Ferdinand’s confused feelings shadowed his every step after the talent show. Every interaction with Hubert left him with a beating heart and heat in his face. So he tried to avoid him as much as he could without seeming suspicious— he didn’t want to push their relationship back onto a downward spiral, not again. With finals and winter break coming up, he only had to make it through the next week before he would have a while away from Hubert to decipher his feelings.</p><p>There was more than one occasion where Ferdinand would stand in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at himself and thinking. He would trace the curves of his hair and face with his eyes. He would try to imagine himself with Hubert, with Hubert <em> there </em>, their hands intertwined or arms around each other, and a blush would settle on his face as he looked away. He would try to imagine himself with anyone else— a girl, maybe Edelgard or Dorothea— and though it flustered him, it wasn’t quite the same. Edelgard or Dorothea or any other girl didn’t make his heart beat in the same way. They didn’t make him look away blushing.</p><p>He hated it. <em>What the hell was he supposed to do about these stupid feelings?</em> <em>Why couldn’t he be </em>normal<em>?</em> He was sure that his parents would disapprove if they found out. No— it would be worse than that, right? He saw how his father treated Hubert, before he claimed to be dating Edelgard. He saw his gaze laced with contempt. There was a very real possibility that his life would change for the worse if he accepted this part of himself.</p><p>So he pushed it away.</p><p>His heart only pounded because he wasn’t used to being friends with Hubert yet. He thought about Hubert only because he admired him and his skills and felt bad for his bad home life. He blushed when he talked to Hubert only because it was strange to receive attention from him that wasn’t negative.</p><p>That’s what he would tell himself, anyway— it didn’t mean it was true. And it certainly wasn’t.</p><p>
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</p><p>Over their last week of school before the break, Edelgard and Hubert had insisted that Ferdinand still owed them for the day at his house, even though he had already given them leftovers and bought them ice cream after the talent show. So, with Christmas around the corner, he gave into their pestering and bought them each gifts.</p><p>For Edelgard he bought a game that she had mentioned wanting, and he gave it to her on their last day of school before the break in their orchestra final. Hubert’s gift, however, couldn’t be carried into the school as easily, so he asked to drop it off at his house. Hubert had grimaced at that, but he said he would let him know when there was a good time to come by.</p><p>A few days later Ferdinand sat in his car in front of Hubert’s house, his gift in the passenger seat and apprehension filling his limbs.</p><p>The outside of the house looked as normal as ever, albeit slightly disheveled. It was in a nice neighborhood a bit closer to the school than his. From the outside, he couldn’t tell that such a dysfunctional family inhabited it. Only Hubert’s beat-up car was in the driveway.</p><p>He texted Hubert that he was there and pulled the box out of his passenger seat. It was much bigger than Edelgard’s gift, though he had spent roughly the same amount of money (seriously, why were video games sixty dollars?). He carried it to the front door and rang the doorbell.</p><p>A minute later, Hubert opened the door with a shiver at the winter cold; Ferdinand felt his heartbeat quicken, and he tried to will away the already-forming blush. “I got your text. You didn’t have to ring—” his voice faltered as soon as he saw the box in his arms.</p><p>He handed it over, and Hubert took it. “You didn’t have to get me something this big.”</p><p>“It was the same price as Edelgard’s, roughly,” he argued.</p><p>Hubert started to close the door. “Okay, thanks. Bye.”</p><p>“No— wait! Open it in front of me!” Ferdinand shouted. Hubert groaned. He slipped out of the house, not allowing Ferdinand to see inside of it for some reason.</p><p>“Fine,” he muttered and tore off the red and green wrapping paper. His mouth hung open slightly when he saw what it was, and Ferdinand’s heart only pounded more.</p><p>“You bought me a record player?” Hubert asked, his voice more quiet than usual.</p><p>He nodded. “And look what record I found,” he added, pointing to the top where a vinyl record sat in a slip. Hubert pulled it out.</p><p>“<em> The Black Parade </em>,” he read, and once again his voice faltered. His face was red— was it the biting cold, or his surprise? “Ferdinand…”</p><p>“Now, I still don’t like <em> My Chemical Romance </em> , but I heard that this was their most popular album,” Ferdinand said, trying to appear confident though Hubert’s reaction flustered him. “And I heard that vinyl records were starting to come back in style. And Edelgard said that this gift would be very thoughtful,” —he was rambling at this point— “though she <em> did </em> also say that coffee would make a good choice, and I told her that it could be a gift for a birthday or something, especially since we all know that you two will keep pestering me for more gifts after this—”</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert said, cutting him off.</p><p>“Y— yes?”</p><p>“Thank you.” He smiled.</p><p>His expression was so sincere that Ferdinand’s face heated up to levels he didn’t think were possible. He smiled in return. “You’re… you’re welcome.”</p><p>Hubert stood and picked up the box. “I have to go get ready for work now. You should probably also leave before my parents get here.”</p><p><em> Hubert’s parents— right. </em> Ferdinand didn’t want to meet them anytime soon. He nodded. “Okay. I’ll just… get going then. I have to go home and practice before my parents get upset about that, too.” He was talking too much again. “I’ll see you around? Maybe we can all hang out before school starts again?”</p><p>There was a hint of a smile on Hubert’s face again. “I’d like that.”</p><p>“M— me too.” He was stuttering too much, damn it, but Hubert didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“See you around,” Hubert said, and he shut the front door. Ferdinand turned around, walked to his car, got in it, and immediately threw his hands on his face and screamed.</p><p>God, he was in too deep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: hubert's escape.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Jet Pack Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>two escapes, a phone call, and a particularly grumpy version of Lumiere.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the beginning of the winter break of his junior year, Hubert was elated. He wasn’t expecting Ferdinand to actually <em> give </em> him a gift, much less a thoughtful one. And he didn’t expect Ferdinand to become so flustered about it either.</p><p>In the free time that he didn’t spend with Edelgard, he would sit in his room, listening to the record and thinking too many things about Ferdinand. Ever since Claude’s party their relationship had only been on an upward slope, and it gave Hubert a warm feeling, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He could get used to having him as a friend, especially if he would buy gifts such as this.</p><p>But Ferdinand had seemed so entirely <em> flustered </em> recently. It was odd, considering how they had hated each other not that long ago. When Hubert held his wrist at the talent show, he couldn’t even look him in the eye. He wasn’t quite the same after that— for the last week or so of school before the break he had kept his distance, or so it seemed. Maybe he was overthinking it, or maybe there was something else going on.</p><p>That year Hubert’s Christmas was surprisingly decent. Even though his family fought again, he was able to retreat upstairs to his room before it escalated. He could listen to the record on repeat, feeling an ache in his chest when he thought about Ferdinand’s generosity.</p><p>Everything was looking up when it became worse again.</p><p>Sometime after Christmas but before New Year’s, Hubert returned home to his drunk father from a late band practice at Edelgard’s. Worry clenched his heart when he saw the flicker of the TV through the front windows, and he tried to slip inside without his father noticing.</p><p>“Hubert!” he yelled from the living room as the front door creaked open. <em> Shit. What was he mad about this time? </em></p><p>Hubert tried to sneak upstairs and at least put his bass out of his dad’s reach, but he was waiting near the stairs with anger drawn into the lines of his face. He clutched the straps of his case.</p><p>“You have something to explain,” his father said. <em> Was it about his late night practice session with Edelgard? That was routine, now. </em></p><p>“What,” Hubert said.</p><p>“You never told me you had a boyfriend,” he spat.</p><p>“I don’t.” His mind was equal parts confusion and fear— he didn’t know what his father was talking about, but he was scared of it anyway.</p><p>His father held up his phone, which showed camera footage of their front door in black and white. “Yeah? Then why did this guy bring you a <em> gift </em>a week ago?”</p><p>Hubert’s heart wrenched. He didn’t know they had a camera on their front door— he knew he should’ve just insisted Ferdinand give it to him at school, or to Edelgard or something. <em> Stupid </em> , he told himself, clenching his jaw. <em> You’re fucking stupid, Hubert. </em></p><p>“How long have you kept this from me?” his dad said, his voice growing louder with each word. “How long have you been fucking this guy?”</p><p>“Ferdinand is a friend <em> only </em>,” he yelled back, clenching his fists. His nails dug into his palms. “What does this matter to you?”</p><p>“Ferdinand, huh?” his dad repeated. “That name sounds familiar.”</p><p><em> Fuck. </em> There was no way his dad didn’t know about von Aegir’s son. <em> You’re </em> so fucking <em> stupid, Hubert. </em> He was too tired to be arguing right now, not after a morning shift at the grocery store and a full day of practice.</p><p>“<em> Ferdinand von Aegir </em>,” his dad said, the name harsh on his lips. Ferdinand’s name didn’t deserve such desecration. “He’s von Aegir’s son? Oh, just you wait until he gets a load of this…”</p><p>“I will tell you as many times as it takes until you understand. I am <em> not </em> involved with Ferdinand.” Hubert stood his ground.</p><p>His father took a step toward him; he stepped away. <em> If he could lead him into another room, there was a chance he could make it to the stairs before this escalated. </em> He took another few steps back.</p><p>“Get back here you <em> bastard </em>,” his dad said. “I assure you, von Aegir will be made aware of this. In fact, I could call him right now if you wanted. That way you could tell him all the ways you’ve ruined his son.”</p><p>“I’ve done nothing to him.”</p><p>His dad typed at something on his phone. “Fine. I’ll call him, and we’ll see just which one of us he believes.”</p><p>In a fit of panic Hubert swiped for the phone. Even if his dad was bluffing, he couldn’t risk ruining Ferdinand’s life because of his stupid mistakes. He was too good to be dragged down to his level— too talented and too kind.</p><p>The thought of protecting Ferdinand from this mess only steeled his resolve.</p><p>His father took the opportunity to shove Hubert in return. He stumbled backwards and managed to dodge a fist, mindful of the expensive instrument strapped to his back. Hubert dived for the phone again, and this time he managed to take it from his slightly-inebriated father. Before he could taunt his victory, however, pain erupted on his face as his father slapped him.</p><p>“Give that back, you ungrateful child,” he growled.</p><p>“You’ve already ruined my life. You can’t ruin his.”</p><p>A menacing smile played on his lips. “So he means that much to you, huh? It’s so obvious. You can’t deny it.”</p><p>“<em> He is a friend </em>,” Hubert repeated, clenching his father’s phone in one hand and his instrument case strap in the other, his hands wrapped so tight around each that it hurt. He knew that his father only spouted empty threats, but they still did their job of riling him up. “And I am so fucking tired of you ruining my friends’ lives.”</p><p>“Ionius deserved what happened to him. His <em> bitch </em> of a daughter deserved it, too.”</p><p>Rage filled Hubert. Before he knew it, his fist had made contact with his father’s chest— pain crackled up his arm, but he continued fighting anyway.</p><p>“<em> Take that back </em>,” he spat. Somewhere, deep down, he knew his father was just saying this to get a kick out of him— to instigate this fight. But his wrath was blinding him. What did his father know of Ferdinand’s life, how hard it was for him already? What did his father know of Edelgard’s life, of the poverty that plagued them and the nights she would spend seized up because of the unyielding memories?</p><p>They fought for a long time that night.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hubert fell into a spiral.</p><p>He ignored Edelgard and Ferdinand’s texts, or he only replied with curt answers. He drank all the beer in the fridge, not caring whether his father found out, not fearing any shitstorm that would follow. He sat in his bed all day; any other task was too monumental for him to do.</p><p>For hours at a time, all he would do was listen to music. He alternated between his new vinyl record and his playlists. Every so often there would be a song that reminded him of middle school and he would skip it as a disgusted feeling arose in his chest. Sometimes he would drink, downing two or three cans, and these songs became a lot more bearable. The old memories disappeared for a while. It was nice while it lasted.</p><p>But through it all, there were two things that kept Hubert grounded. One was his bass guitar. He didn’t have the energy to get out of bed and play it, but simply looking at it in its case in the corner of his room relaxed the anxieties that piled upon his mind. It was the gift from Edelgard that not only had started their band but also had given him a new sense of purpose. Once again he was the low backdrop to Edelgard’s music, to her success.</p><p>The other was the record.</p><p>It sat on his nightstand, right next to his bed, so close that he could reach out his hand and touch it. He did that often, actually, remembering his shock when Ferdinand had showed up with the box, remembering his flustered expression and too-obvious rambling and his own heart that pounded against his chest at the sincerity of it. The music played in a much crisper quality than through his earbuds. He sang along to <em> Welcome to the Black Parade </em> and <em> The Sharpest Lives </em> and <em> Dead! </em>, and between the songs and the drinks he lost himself.</p><p>Yes, those were the things that tethered him to his life during his excursions into drunken stupors. Although he couldn’t muster the energy or courage to text either of his friends, it reassured him to know that they cared.</p><p>And care they did, because after a few days of being avoided, Edelgard showed up at his house at a time when both of his parents were gone. Hubert didn’t answer the doorbell until she called him.</p><p>“Hubert, get down here <em> right now </em> and open the front door,” she demanded over his phone’s speaker. “Or I swear to God I will scale the wall of your house and break in your bedroom window.”</p><p>He couldn’t leave her there, and he knew she was serious about climbing his house. She did it once before. “Fine,” he groaned, and he pried himself from his sweat-stained bed, hanging up the call and tossing his phone aside before he went to greet her.</p><p>She frowned as he opened the front door. The cold hit him square in the face, and for a moment he couldn’t quite breathe right. “When was the last time you showered? I can smell you from here.”</p><p>“It— it’s nice to see you, too,” he stammered.</p><p>“You have to tell me what happened.” She tried to push her way into the house, but Hubert blocked her. He pointed to the camera on the front door, hidden where the spyhole was supposed to be.</p><p>“My dad is going to be pissed when he finds out you were here,” was all he said.</p><p>She stared at the camera for a minute. “Did he see Ferdinand in it when he came by?”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about this,” he sighed.</p><p>“Hubert, this isn’t like you at all. You need help.” Her mouth was set in a straight line, hiding the anxiety that he knew was there. “How long have you been sitting here, doing nothing?”</p><p>“Not that long,” he scoffed.</p><p>“Okay. What day is it today?”</p><p>He didn’t reply. Edelgard’s face fell. “Hubert, it’s the thirty-first,” she told him, unable to hide the worry that laced her words. “You have a shift at work today; you told me that last week. Ferdinand wanted to do something for New Year’s. We’ve both been insanely worried about you these past few days.”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“You are not.”</p><p>They stared at each other for a while. As nice as it was to see Edelgard, Hubert felt so <em> distant </em>from her. It was as if he wasn’t there physically, and he only watched his actions from inside himself. He wanted so badly to reach out and wrap his arms around her, to ask for help, but there was a voice inside his head, whispering to him that he was nothing but a nuisance. His problems were his only— he didn’t need her. She didn’t need to be burdened by him.</p><p>“I’m going to go back to my room,” he said after the silence. “Hopefully my dad won’t get too mad at me when he sees that you showed up here.”</p><p>She looked at the ground. “Hubert… it hurts me to see you like this.”</p><p>Her words tugged on his heart. He couldn’t help but stare at the ground too, shame washing over his body. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her, but he supposed that in his self-pity that was exactly what he had done.</p><p><em> You’re such a fuck-up, </em> the voice in his head said. <em> You hurt your best friend. She’s probably been at home, worried out of her mind for the past few days. What if something happened to her, and you weren’t there? What if she had another bad night and you were too self-absorbed in your own problems to care? </em></p><p>“I’m sorry,” he admitted quietly.</p><p>She smiled. “If you weren’t feeling well, then there’s nothing to apologize for. I’m here for you.” Her phone dinged with a text; she checked it and typed out a quick response. Then she looked back up at him. “It’s ten right now. You work from two to nine-thirty this evening, so you should have plenty of time to clean yourself up before then. Oh, and Ferdinand’s on his way, so let’s find some way to cover this camera.”</p><p>“Ferdinand’s on his way?”</p><p>“Do you not want him to? I figured you could use as many friends as you could get.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” he said, although the thought of Ferdinand at his home again wasn’t very pleasant— at least, with what his dad had said. “I’ll go take a shower.”</p><p>Hubert retreated upstairs as Edelgard brashly entered the house and rummaged through his father’s office, looking for something to cover the camera. He cringed at the state of his room— his bed was an unmade mess and empty beer cans littered the floor. It looked like something his father would do. He ignored it for now and got in the shower.</p><p>The hot water burned his skin, but he didn’t lower the temperature. It was nice to feel something after so many days of sitting unmotivated and unstimulated in his bed. He liked it this hot, anyway. So he spent a while standing under the water while it washed over him, and after that he washed himself and stepped out of the shower.</p><p>“<em> Hubert! </em>” Ferdinand screeched as Hubert entered his room, only wearing a towel around his waist. He and Edelgard both covered their eyes. “Put some clothes on!”</p><p>Hubert sighed. He couldn’t even bother to feel embarrassed. “It’s nice to see you, too.”</p><p>His two friends sat on his bed, which was stripped of its sweat-stained bedding. The cans that had adorned the floor were gone, and so were the dirty clothes he had scattered around the room. They must have cleaned it, and the thought sent a pang of… <em> some </em> emotion through his heart. He didn’t know exactly what.</p><p>“You should have brought clothes into your bathroom,” Edelgard remarked, her hands still over her face.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you two would walk in here like you owned the place.” He walked into his closet and grabbed a shirt he had bought two years ago and his last clean pair of pants. Ferdinand and Edelgard only moved their hands after he had emerged from the bathroom once again, fully clothed this time.</p><p>“Why did you come?” he asked, standing in front of them.</p><p>“We were worried about you,” Ferdinand admitted, a dust of pink still on his face. “Edelgard told me that something had happened.”</p><p>She sighed. “Yes, and we want to know what it is. It must have been your dad, right? Was he mad about Ferdinand coming over?”</p><p>Hubert ran his fingers through his wet hair, combing it over onto the top of his head. He grit his teeth as he tried to think of what to say— how could he be vulnerable in front of Ferdinand, of all people? How could he tell him what his father had said?</p><p>He was just glad that Ferdinand didn’t see him at his absolute worst; at least Edelgard had given him the foresight to take a shower before he arrived. But he still saw the cans that littered his floor and the sweat stains on his sheets. He still smelled the lingering scent of beer and dread. And he still saw the mess that was his dysfunctional family’s house.</p><p>“He saw Ferdinand on the camera and accused him of being my boyfriend,” Hubert told them as he fixed his eyes on the ground. “He threatened to tell his father. I said I was tired of him ruining my friends’ lives, and then he said that… you deserved what happened to you.” He said the last part in a small voice. “We fought for a long time after that.”</p><p>“So you’ve been ignoring us?” Ferdinand said. </p><p>Edelgard placed her hand on his arm. “No, Ferdinand. This isn’t the time to be angry.”</p><p>He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Hubert hoped he wasn’t mad; that only increased the ball of shame that had settled in his stomach and strengthened the voice in his head. He laced his fingers in front of his body.</p><p>“I didn’t feel like doing anything after that,” he confessed. “I’m sorry for ignoring both of you.”</p><p>In a swift motion Edelgard stood and wrapped her arms around his torso. The feeling was almost foreign— though they were best friends, they only hugged whenever Edelgard was having a rough night, and Hubert wasn’t usually the one who received them. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and placed his head on her shoulder.</p><p>“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she said into his chest. “As long as you let us help you.”</p><p>He pulled away. “I’ll try.” His gaze shifted to Ferdinand, who awkwardly sat on his bed as if he didn’t know whether to join the hug or not.</p><p>“Now,” Edelgard said and set her hand on Hubert’s shoulder, “we’re staying with you until you go to work this afternoon. Then we’re going to celebrate the new year at my place after your shift.”</p><p>“What if my parents come home?”</p><p>“Then we’ll deal with it. Right now, you’re more important.” Her stance was unwavering— she wouldn’t allow Hubert to slip back through any cracks. She was there to drag him out of the endless pit he had fallen into. </p><p>And so did Ferdinand, who sat on his bed with his lips upturned into a smile, even though they had hated each other so much a couple years ago. So did Ferdinand, who had given him a little hope in the form of a thoughtful gift. </p><p>The voice in his head was still present, and it hummed anxieties to his broken mind. Hubert wanted desperately to break down, to air his problems to Edelgard and Ferdinand and beg for their help, but his body wouldn’t let him— he still felt miles away, just as he did when Edelgard had arrived. He wanted to reach out and touch Edelgard again, and touch Ferdinand for the first time, but his vulnerability scared him more than he could admit.</p><p>So he said, “Okay,” and he let himself exist with them, though his troubles placed such a filter on his throat and his heart.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hubert didn’t remember much of that day. He went to work at some point. Afterwards he went to Edelgard’s, where he hung out with her and Ferdinand. They counted down to the new year— that part he could at least recall— and sometime soon after that Ferdinand went home. Edelgard wouldn’t let Hubert leave, so he spent the night at her house.</p><p>The part of the night that was clearest in his mind was Ferdinand. They were watching the Times Square Ball Drop on TV, sitting on Edelgard’s couch, trying not to make too much noise so they wouldn’t wake up her father in the other room. It was a couple minutes after midnight, after their New Year’s celebration, and Hubert was sitting between them.</p><p>“I know this year is going to be different,” Ferdinand had said. His eyes sparkled. “We’re going to be seniors by the end of it. Our lives are going to change— I can feel it.”</p><p>Hubert had smiled and said, “Yeah.”</p><p>The rest of the break was a blur as well. He spent a lot of time working— curse the store for scheduling him almost every day that week— and the rest of his time either with Edelgard or in his bed. She had forced him to hang out more after his initial depressive episode, and although he still had no energy to do anything, he did it for her.</p><p>The voice in his head was still as strong as ever. Those intrusive thoughts became routine to him, unfortunately, as he normalized their existence. Soon he would even begin to believe them. After that, they assumed new forms— when he drove to and from work, he would begin to wonder what would happen if he jerked his steering wheel into the cars around him. What would happen if he succumbed to his injuries in the more frequent fights with his father? How sweet would it be to go to sleep and never wake again?</p><p>Then the shame would arise in his chest. There was no way he could leave Edelgard alone, even if his thoughts so desperately wanted him to. He was stuck in a paradox of selfless selfishness— he couldn’t bear to bother her with his trivial problems, yet there was no way he could leave her side.</p><p>So Hubert didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.</p><p>School started again, and even amidst his depressive episodes he forced himself to go for Edelgard’s sake. Each day felt the same— he woke up, dragged himself out of bed, tried and failed to pay attention in class, sometimes practiced in orchestra rehearsals, and then either hung out with Edelgard or went to work. Life droned on.</p><p>A couple weeks later he sat in his Precalculus class with Edelgard and Ferdinand. They were each working ahead on their homework, while he mindlessly listened to <em> Holiday </em> through one earbud. If he cared enough to do it, he’d probably just ask Edelgard for the answers the day before it was due.</p><p>Ferdinand sat at the desk on the other side of Edelgard. He stopped working to look at his phone, and after a few minutes his expression fell. He turned to them.</p><p>“The Latin test grades are in,” he said.</p><p>Edelgard looked up, worry etched into her face as well. “What’d you make?”</p><p>“An eighty-eight,” he sighed. “I really thought I would do better. I studied for three hours the night before…”</p><p>Hubert listened in on their conversation. He knew his grade would be a lot worse— sure he had studied some with Edelgard, but the short answer questions were brutal, especially since they were all-or-nothing. And there were two different questions about a sentence with <em> vultus </em> in it and he <em> knew </em> he had confused it with some form of the verb <em> volo </em>.</p><p>“I got a ninety-four,” Edelgard said, her voice teeming with the same disappointment as Ferdinand’s. “Maybe we can hope for more extra credit?”</p><p>“Maybe. What’d you get, Hubert?” he asked.</p><p>Hubert almost laughed. “Certainly worse than an eighty-eight.” He checked anyway, though, and his suspicions were confirmed when his average for the class dropped to a low B. “Sixty-four,” he answered, too numb to feel any sort of disappointment.</p><p>“<em> Sixty-four </em>?” Ferdinand nearly screeched, drawing the attention of a few of their classmates nearby.</p><p>Edelgard’s eyes widened. “Hubert, I didn’t think you’d do <em> that </em> bad. Are you feeling okay?”</p><p>He waved his hand. “I’m fine. I mixed up <em> vultus </em> with <em> volo </em>. Thought it was the perfect passive participle or something.”</p><p>“<em> Volo </em> doesn’t have a perfect passive participle,” she provided.</p><p>“Yeah, well, I know that now,” he scoffed. He didn’t want to talk about his shitty grade, or all of the other shitty grades he had been getting in the past three weeks since they returned to school. It already hurt enough that he considered himself a failure— he didn’t want Edelgard and Ferdinand to regard him in the same way.</p><p>“I’ll help you study more for the next test if you want,” Edelgard offered.</p><p>“Me too,” said Ferdinand. “I could use the help, too, and hanging out at Edelgard’s place sometime sounds pretty fun.”</p><p>“I don’t need help,” Hubert snapped, his patience growing thin. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>The worry in Edelgard’s eyes only grew. “Are you sure you’re okay?”</p><p><em> Hell no, </em> he thought, with the voice in his head screaming curses and insults at him. He wasn’t okay. But he couldn’t let those words spill, much less in the middle of his Precalculus class. He couldn’t bother her with his useless problems.</p><p>“Yes,” he replied, and he put in his other earbud and turned away, signalling the definite end of the conversation.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> You’re so pathetic. You can’t even bottle up your own emotions anymore. Look at you— bruised and broken. Tears staining your face. Why cry now? It won’t fix anything. All you’re doing is drowning in your own-self pity, when you should be pushing it all aside to stand strong next to Edelgard. But, how useless— you can’t even face her. </em>
</p><p>That was what Hubert’s mind had hissed in his ear as he stood in his bathroom, washing the new cuts and bruises from that night. He hated the sight of himself. Since when did he become so <em> broken </em>? The tears fell silently from his face— he could hardly feel them at this point. He hardly felt anything except for the throbbing and stinging along his body.</p><p>For times like this, he had hidden a handful of beer cans in his dresser drawer. Sure, they were room temperature and tasted a lot worse, but anything would do to get him as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time without incurring another fight. He piled them on his bed next to him and swaddled himself between blankets.</p><p><em> Camisado </em> by <em> Panic! At The Disco </em> played through his earbuds. Hubert laughed harshly and skipped it within the first few words. He skipped a couple more songs after— nothing quite matched his mood. It felt as though he listened to the music through a filter. The songs he once liked bored him now. He settled on <em> Shut Up! </em> by <em> Simple Plan </em>.</p><p>He remembered one time around eighth grade, a couple months after Edelgard had returned to her dad. They were hanging out after school, and she was upset about her family. Hubert had played this song and he sang along to it, and before he knew it they were both air-guitaring and singing with their worries placed beside them, surrounded in the music— that was when he knew that they had to start a band.</p><p>
  <em> And now you can’t even tell her what’s wrong. Why bother, anyway? She doesn’t need to be dragged down by you. </em>
</p><p>Hubert finished off his first can of beer. He wanted the buzz to come quickly— the voice in his head was too loud, and the music in his ears wasn’t even doing enough to drown it out. It screamed over the lyrics, over the guitars and the drums and the low bassline, just to make sure that it would be heard. And heard it was, as he downed another can. The foul-tasting liquid burned in his throat.</p><p>
  <em> Why drink? You know it worries her. She doesn’t want you to fall into the footsteps of your father. </em>
</p><p>He furrowed his eyebrows and screwed his eyes shut, turning up the volume in his earbuds to the maximum. <em> Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. </em> His limbs ached. He felt like a fool in his body; he wanted to rip and tear at his skin, tear it off and get rid of the shame that piled upon him. He dug his short nails into his wrist, leaving dark crescent-shapes but nothing more. He couldn’t hear the voice anymore— all that was left was an aching sense of dread and anxiety in his chest.</p><p>The buzz set in soon after that as Hubert drank his third can. His nervous heartbeat calmed and the voice went away for good that night, and finally he could relax into the rhythm of the music. The inebriety gave him such a languid feeling as the negative thoughts and emotions disappeared. As he drank more, the memories began to escape him— each minute poured into the next, all of them muddling in his mind. All he could remember before he fell asleep was that he was thinking about Ferdinand, for some reason.</p><p>In the morning he awoke with a cloud in his head. <em> How many cans did he drink? </em> The litter on the floor showed five. <em> What day was it? Did he have work? </em> He glanced at his phone. It was eleven on Tuesday morning, and he had a slew of texts from Edelgard.</p><p>
  <em> Edelgard. </em>
</p><p>His heart sank into his stomach as the shame from last night returned. He ran his fingers through his greasy, tangled hair. He had drunk five entire cans, which was five more than Edelgard would have wanted him to drink. She was probably sitting at school, worried out of her mind, and the thought was drilled into Hubert’s unfortunate head.</p><p>Despite that, he couldn’t bring himself to even reply.</p><p>Guilt ran deep, but so did the pervasive lack of energy from a few weeks prior. Getting out of bed to use the bathroom seemed like the most monumental task he would ever face. How could he reply? How could he face her and explain everything that was happening?</p><p>By that afternoon, Hubert had a couple more texts from Edelgard. He didn’t feel like reading any of them, even though part of him longed to talk to her. The hangover still muddled his brain, but he drank another can just for the hell of it. Then another. And the rest of his stash.</p><p>That was how he passed the rest of the week. Drinking. Avoiding the voice screaming in his head. He knew he had three tests and a quiz and maybe one work shift that he missed, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. He couldn’t even bother to learn his solo piece for solo and ensemble that year, though the competition was sometime in the near future and he had only mastered half a page of sheet music out of two. Edelgard would be disappointed.</p><p>And to top off his shitty, depressed week, Hubert got into another fight with his father on one of the nights he depleted his beer stash— he was caught trying to take more cans upstairs when one fell from his arms. More bruises bloomed on his body now. More anxieties screamed in his head.</p><p>He stood in front of his bathroom mirror that Friday— no, was it Thursday? Maybe it was Saturday already? Had he slipped unknowingly into the next week? He didn’t know— and he stared at himself. When <em> was </em> the last time he had showered? His hair fell over his face. The greasy strands were almost touching his shoulders. There were beer stains on the shirt he had been wearing since Monday night. He knew he reeked— maybe that’s one of the reasons his father had fought him, since he looked like such a shameful delinquent. His yellow eyes were bloodshot and underlined with dark circles. There was stubble on his face. His armpits were slick with sweat. He was fucking <em> disgusting </em>. He looked away from his reflection.</p><p>His phone was on the counter beside him. He tapped the screen— it was 9:26 PM on Thursday. <em> Only Thursday, huh? </em> Some of those days had felt longer than that. There were a couple text notifications on his lockscreen. All from Edelgard. He knew that if he didn’t reply, she’d probably show up after school the next day or on Saturday morning, whenever his parents weren’t around. He welcomed it and dreaded it at the same time.</p><p>There was a razor on the edge of the sink. He really should shave the stubble that poked out on his cheeks and upper lip, but then he would have to put water or shaving cream or something on it. He tried shaving anyway and cut a gash on the soft skin. It stung. He tried again. Another gash. It felt… calming, almost. His phone lit up with a text. He almost didn’t see it as he cut into his skin again, taking some stubble with it.</p><p>Was it Edelgard again? Hubert picked up the phone and squinted at the screen. No— it was Ferdinand this time, and reading his name made his heart twist.</p><p><em> Are you okay, Hubert? Please let me know if you need anything, </em> was all the text said.</p><p>It was simple, but it left his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know that Ferdinand cared enough to reach out. Sure they had been becoming better friends (or “rivals” as Ferdinand would say, since the word “friend” was apparently foreign to him), but he didn’t expect it. Hubert opened the message and let his thumbs linger over the phone screen. Another text appeared.</p><p>
  <em> If something else happened, I want you to know that Edelgard and I are willing to do what we can to help. </em>
</p><p>What could they do to help? Their plan didn’t work last time. He had only slipped into an even worse depression. He didn’t know what would help. His face felt wet; a tear streaked down and hung at the edge of his razor-whipped cheek. A tear? Since when was he crying?</p><p>
  <em> Hubert, are you reading these? If so, please respond. </em>
</p><p>There was a tight feeling in his chest. What could he say? They would be so disappointed. He remembered Ferdinand’s thinly-veiled anger when he and Edelgard had come over. Did he still feel that way? Angry because of his selfish descents into drunken spirals? Even so, the texts didn’t carry a tone of anger. Or did they? He couldn’t tell. He could hardly see them through his vision blurred by tears. He wiped at his face. The salty tears stung his cuts. What could he do? Too many thoughts filled his mind. His breath came heavy from his lungs.</p><p>He felt his phone buzz in his hands. Ferdinand was calling. Why was he calling? Hubert stared at the buttons at the bottom of the screen. How easy would it be for him not to answer and stay like this forever? The phone kept buzzing. This was his chance to talk to him. This was his chance to <em> get help </em>. The window of chance narrowed with each second he waited. He couldn’t do it. There was no way. He couldn’t answer, right?</p><p>Hubert took a deep breath, pressed the green button, and held his phone to his ear.</p><p>“H—Hubert?” Ferdinand answered. His voice made him shiver. He hadn’t heard it since earlier that week, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it.</p><p>“Hi,” he croaked, slinking out of his bathroom and returning to the safe prison of his bed. That was all he could manage to say.</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting you to answer,” Ferdinand said. He sounded beyond relieved. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>The tightness in Hubert’s chest returned. “I…” he mumbled, though he didn’t know what to say after that. All he wanted to do was tell Ferdinand that he was here. He existed. He was alive.</p><p>“Take your time.” His words were soft.</p><p>What had even happened to throw Hubert on such a spiral? He tried to remember the fights he had with his father. They weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but he just couldn’t bear them for whatever reason.</p><p>“I feel like shit,” he admitted.</p><p>“What happened?” Ferdinand asked when he didn’t elaborate. Worry tinged his voice. “Is it your father, or is school worrying you?”</p><p>“Everything,” he forced out. He cursed himself for answering this call— if that was so hard to say, how would he admit everything else that was happening?</p><p>“Do— do you need anything? Edelgard and I could come after school tomorrow, or sometime this weekend, or we could pick you up for school—”</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert said. Where was he going with this? His lips twitched into a frown. He ran his fingers nervously across his comforter. “You’re not angry at me?”</p><p>“Angry? Why would I be?”</p><p>He twisted the comforter in his hands. “Last time...” was all he could say.</p><p>Ferdinand paused. “I… I didn’t realize what was going on. It was insensitive of me.” There was a breath. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s not the first time you’ve been insensitive,” he said, remembering the argument they had in sophomore year. A year and a half ago. It felt like it had been ages since then.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Ferdinand said and laughed. A smile tugged at the corner of Hubert’s lips. “I have to remind myself sometimes that I don’t hate you.”</p><p>“Same here.” But he didn’t mean what he said; he didn’t hate him anymore. Especially after the gift. Especially after this.</p><p>“S— so, uh…” he stuttered from the other side of the phone. “Would you like to talk about what’s going on? I want to help you.” And when he didn’t reply right away, he added, “School just isn’t the same without you.”</p><p>Hubert stared at his ceiling. What could he say? Everything seemed so trivial. Ferdinand’s voice had calmed most of his anxieties, but some still lingered in his mind. He couldn’t admit what a disgusting slob he had become in the past few days. He couldn’t admit how much beer he had downed. He couldn’t admit that he was a selfish bastard who put his own self-pity in front of his best friend.</p><p>“My life fucking sucks,” he laughed. That was all he could find within himself to say.</p><p>“It’ll get better,” Ferdinand said— it sounded like he didn’t know how to respond. He paused. “Just talk, and I’ll do what I can for you.” His insistence on helping was endearing.</p><p>“I don’t know what to tell you.”</p><p>“Hm. Tell me what’s going on— everything that’s on your mind. Rant to me.”</p><p>Rant? The last thing Hubert wanted to do was be vulnerable in front of Ferdinand. Well, he supposed he had been somewhat vulnerable at Claude’s party last year, but that was under the influence of alcohol. He reached over and grabbed a beer can from his nightstand. It hissed as it opened.</p><p>“Let me have a drink first. Then I’ll talk.”</p><p>Ferdinand didn’t say anything— he probably still disapproved of Hubert’s nascent alcoholism. He chugged the can, then he tossed it aside and curled up in his bed.</p><p>“That was fast.”</p><p>“I’ve gotten pretty good at drinking this shit,” Hubert chuckled. “They say you develop a taste for it. I haven’t.”</p><p>“Would you like to talk now?” Ferdinand asked.</p><p>He wasn’t drunk yet, but it wouldn’t be long before there was a buzz. He cracked open another can to nurse while he talked. It would help some. “I’ll try.”</p><p>“I’ll just be here, listening.”</p><p>Hubert’s heart beat against his chest. He ran his fingers over the condensation on the can— this was a cold one, since he had swiped it from the fridge earlier that evening. That’s right. He had fought with his father again, and he had almost forgotten about it behind the other anxieties that piled upon him.</p><p>“Where do I start…?” he droned after a while. The alcohol was beginning to loosen his lips, but he still didn’t know what to say. There were so many reasons why his life went to shit.</p><p>“I think it started with the day my father found out you came over,” he started. With Ferdinand silent on the other end he could pretend that he wasn’t even there. “I don’t know why it made me so depressed. I couldn’t do anything. I sat here and listened to music and got drunk and stewed in my own filth. And that’s all I did this week, too.” He sighed. “I’m fucking disgusting. I’ve been ignoring all of Edelgard’s texts— and after how I’ve treated her, I shouldn’t have the right to call myself her best friend.”</p><p>“She understands, Hubert. She just wants to help you.”</p><p>Hubert clenched his jaw. “And I…” he muttered; the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. “I <em> want </em> her help. I want your help. I didn’t know how to ask— I couldn’t.”</p><p>“Hubert…”</p><p>The buzz was starting to kick in. “Ferdinand, there’s this voice in my head. It tells me that I can’t bother her. If I’m her best friend, I have to suck up all my problems and be there for her. But I couldn’t do that. Instead I’ve been at home, too scared and ashamed to face her. What if she had a panic attack and I wasn’t there? What if something happened to her?” The thought of it made his eyes well with tears. He had already cried too much that night. “It’s so <em> pervasive </em>. It’s been here ever since, well, when my father… you know, found out about you.”</p><p>“I wish I would have known sooner,” Ferdinand whispered.</p><p>“Yeah, well… I…” Hubert muttered as he finished his second can. “I wish you did too. I wanted you to pull me out of this. I wanted help <em>so fucking</em> <em>bad </em>but I wasn’t going to admit it. Now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. God, I—” he was interrupted by a sob. “I fucking hate it here. I hate my father. I hate Edelgard’s uncle. I hate myself.”</p><p>Ferdinand seemed taken aback; he didn’t say anything as Hubert cried to himself. God, it was embarrassing, even Hubert could recognize that much through his drunkenness— here he was, sobbing in front of Ferdinand von Aegir, the boy who he hated only a year and a half ago, the rich asshole who was competitive yet fiercely kind. Here he was, crying in front of the boy who made his heart beat faster than it should.</p><p>“Please don’t say that, Hubert. I know things aren’t okay, but you’re… you’re more amazing than you know.” His words were stern, but laced with sincerity. “Do you know how awestruck I was by your performance at the talent show? You played your song with so much emotion that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. And you’re talented at the bass, too, since you consistently make first chair. And… you have such unwavering loyalty. I’ll admit, even I can be jealous of your devotion at times.”</p><p>He didn’t say anything. Ferdinand’s compliments were unexpectedly sweet, but his mind didn’t want him to believe them. His performance at the talent show was riddled with mistakes. He was only first chair because he was better than a whole two basses. And how could he say he had such unwavering loyalty at a time when it wavered thus?</p><p>“You… you’re wrong. I’m a fucking failure—”</p><p>“No,” he said. “Wanting to set aside your problems and be there for Edelgard… even now your loyalty is unwavering. You are simply doing what you think is best for her. But… it isn’t what’s best for her, because it’s not what’s best for you.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Ferdinand sighed. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m trying to say that you need to lean on her, and, uh… <em> me </em>, as well. I know your mind tells you that you’re a worthless burden. Believe me, I have those anxieties too. But, in order to do what’s best for Edelgard, you have to rely on her too.”</p><p>Hubert tensed his body. “She doesn’t need my problems.”</p><p>“How would you feel if she never told you hers? If she didn’t rely on you? Hubert, this is what friendships are for.”</p><p>He was right— the thought of Edelgard masking her troubles just as he did made his heart wrench. The voice in his head was still there, trying to convince him the opposite. He stared at the wall as his thoughts clashed.</p><p>“I don’t mean to be harsh,” Ferdinand added, “but I want you to understand how much you mean to Edelgard. To… me, even. We’re willing to do whatever we can to help. Please allow us to do this for you.”</p><p><em> To me. </em> Hubert’s face heated up.</p><p>“I said before that I don’t know what to do,” he muttered.</p><p>“Then I’ll suggest something. How does this sound: you stay home tomorrow, get a shower or two, and come with me and Edelgard to see the premiere of the school musical in the evening. We’ll get you out of your house, and you don’t have to worry about catching up on the work you missed this week.”</p><p>It sounded decent. Hubert really didn’t have the motivation to shower, but he wasn’t going to appear in front of Ferdinand smelling like a decaying rat. And he knew he wanted to see him. Well, he wanted to see Edelgard too, but there was still a thin layer of dread and guilt that lined his thoughts. Hopefully it would begin to disappear alongside the intrusive thoughts that had held him hostage. And with Ferdinand here, maybe it was already fading.</p><p>“That doesn’t sound bad,” he admitted. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”</p><p>“So will I. It’s after ten now, so I should really be getting to sleep soon. Text me if you need anything else. Oh, and I’ll be at your place at three tomorrow, so be ready by then— we’ll hang out at Edelgard’s house before the show starts.”</p><p>“Oh. Alright.”</p><p>“Well…” Ferdinand gave an awkward laugh. “I guess this is goodnight, then. Thank you for talking to me.”</p><p>Hubert ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank you for calling,” he whispered. He imagined Ferdinand smiling on the other end, that stupid, dorkish, beaming smile. It made him feel warm.</p><p>“Anytime. G— goodnight, Hubert.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Ferdinand.”</p><p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p><p>Hubert sat in his bed for a while after that, his intoxicated brain drinking the events in slow motion. He still couldn’t believe he had cried like that; he held his head in his hands, cursing his drunk and anxiety-filled mind. It was embarrassing, but at least Ferdinand hadn’t reacted negatively. If anything, the warmth from him was… comforting.</p><p><em> Curse that man for being so damn persistent, </em> he thought. <em> And cute, </em> his drunk mind added. <em> And sweet. </em> He shoved his face into a pillow. <em> Curse Ferdinand von Aegir for existing. </em></p><p>Before Hubert went to sleep that night, he opened his phone and read all of Edelgard’s texts since Monday night. Although guilt pierced his heart, he brought himself to reply with a simple <em> i'm sorry for this week, i’ll see you tomorrow after school. </em> And, for Ferdinand’s sake, he forced himself to shower and change out of his beer-stained pajamas— he wouldn’t be caught dead smelling like sweat-soaked piss.</p><p>
  <em> For Ferdinand’s sake. </em>
</p><p>“Curse him,” Hubert muttered with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and soon he fell asleep with that damned man encompassing his thoughts.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“<em> Beauty and the Beast </em>?” Hubert scoffed on the drive to the school the next evening.</p><p>It was six-thirty in late January, which meant the sun was already gone over the horizon— all that was left of the sky was a muted dark blue. For the drive to the musical, Ferdinand had insisted on using his own car. So Hubert was delegated to the backseat and forced to listen to Ferdinand’s neverending playlist of classical music.</p><p>“Yeah. Most of the bigger roles are the seniors— there’s this one big, gruff one playing the Beast— but Claude is Gaston,” Edelgard explained. She had a cheerful demeanor that afternoon, which Hubert could only attribute to his arrival at her house after school had ended. “Claude has been talking his <em> head </em> off about his role in any chance he can get— our Bio class, the class officer meetings, et cetera. We couldn’t <em> not </em> go.”</p><p>“Do we know anyone else in it?” he continued.</p><p>“Uh… Dorothea is the wardrobe lady thing,” Edelgard said. “Ashe is the little teapot. And I think Sylvain is Gaston’s sidekick.”</p><p>“You’re forgetting Felix as Lumiere,” Ferdinand provided.</p><p>“<em> Felix as Lumiere! </em>” she laughed. “How could I?”</p><p>“Sounds like it’ll be interesting,” Hubert muttered from the backseat. Being with his friends made his heart feel a bit lighter, but the emotions from the past week still weighed him down. Oh, and the hangover. He stared at the back of Ferdinand’s headrest— he could see his wavy orange hair and shoulders, but that was it. God, he still couldn’t believe he cried so much last night. Thankfully, Ferdinand hadn’t mentioned it.</p><p>Halfway through Ferdinand’s headbanging to one of Chopin’s 12 Etudes, they arrived at the school. A long line was already formed in front of the auditorium entrance.</p><p>“Fuck, I left my wallet at Edelgard’s,” Hubert said as soon as they got in the line.</p><p>“I’ll cover it,” said Ferdinand without any hesitation at all.</p><p>“No, I’ll get Edelgard to—”</p><p>She waved seven dollars in her hand and shrugged. “I only brought enough for me.”</p><p>“See? It’s fine, Hubert,” he added. “I still owe you some after that one day at my house, don’t I?” He thrusted a ten into his hands without further explanation, and their fingers brushed together. Ferdinand turned around quickly after that, seemingly to survey the crowds of people around them.</p><p><em> Huh, </em> he thought as his own heart pounded.</p><p>They each paid for their tickets and were ushered into the auditorium. Most of the seats in the front were already full, but they managed to find three in a row near the exact middle. Edelgard slid in first, followed by Hubert and then Ferdinand.</p><p>The gravity of the situation didn’t hit Hubert until he sat. Here he was, in the cramped auditorium seats, sitting next to <em> Ferdinand </em>. To no avail he willed away the already-forming blush.</p><p><em> Act natural, Hubert </em> , he thought. <em> You’re just… sitting next to him for a couple hours. Don’t be awkward about it. </em></p><p>Hubert, however, was awkward about it. He tried placing his arm on the armrest between them, and Ferdinand gave him a sour look.</p><p>“I wanted to use that,” he whined.</p><p>“I put my arm here first,” Hubert muttered. “If you really want to use it, just put your arm on mine.”</p><p>Ferdinand frowned and glanced at his arm. “Fine,” he said, and leaned his elbow on it. Hubert’s heart seized, and for a moment he really thought that this was the end. Unfortunately he didn’t die, but he was left with a nasty shade of crimson splashed across his face— at least his bangs hid it. To his right, Edelgard laughed, but she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she made idle conversation about the musical and interesting things Hubert missed that week at school. He thanked her in his mind for allowing the red on his face to fade, and he talked and scrolled through his Instagram feed while waiting for the show to start.</p><p>It was long— that much was certain. Hubert would have fallen asleep at some point, if he wasn’t so <em> nervous </em> from sitting next to Ferdinand. At some point in the show Ferdinand just draped his arm over Hubert’s, and he was glad that his blush would go unnoticed in the dark auditorium.</p><p>Hubert was hyper-aware of any action Ferdinand gave next to him. He let out quiet chuckles whenever Claude appeared onstage as Gaston. His eyebrows drew together in an empathetic frustration as Belle was misunderstood by those around her. He almost died laughing when a particularly grumpy version of Lumiere appeared, but he held it in. Hubert only realized how much of the show he had actually missed when he turned his attention back to it and didn’t understand what was happening.</p><p><em> Oh well. </em> Beauty and the Beast <em> wasn’t the real show he was watching tonight </em>.</p><p><em> Wait. Fuck. That was too sappy. </em> He stared at his lap as his face burst into yet another shade of pink. <em> What the fuck, me. I don’t even like him like </em> that <em> … </em></p><p>Hubert glanced back to Ferdinand. A breath caught in his chest. He looked away.</p><p>
  <em> Well… fuck. </em>
</p><p>At intermission, Ferdinand excused himself to the bathroom. Hubert’s arm felt weird without his weight on it. He was staring at it when Edelgard cleared her throat.</p><p>“So…” she muttered, one of her eyebrows upturned. Hubert didn’t like where this was going. “Ferdinand, huh?”</p><p>“<em> No </em>,” he blurted out too fast, but the rising heat in his face gave it away. Her mouth erupted into a smile, and he buried his face in his hands.</p><p>“<em> Ferdinand, huh? </em> ” she repeated, pulling at his arms. “Since <em> when </em>? Today was the first that I noticed you—”</p><p>“God, is it that obvious?” Hubert hissed. He pried his pink face from his hands and glanced around— <em> good </em>, he didn’t know anyone who was sitting near them. “It’s… recent. I don’t know.”</p><p>“He called you last night, didn’t he? Was that what did it for you?” she questioned.</p><p>“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about this <em> here… </em>”</p><p>A smug smile played on her lips. “You two would be cute.”</p><p>“<em> Shut up </em>!” He buried his face back in his hands. “Shush before Ferdinand gets back.”</p><p>She waved him off. “He’s going to the bathroom during intermission. Do you know how long that’s going to take with all these people in here? I have <em> plenty </em>of time to tease you.”</p><p>“If you keep it up I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he sighed.</p><p>“Ferdinand! I can’t believe you two hated each other only a year and a half ago. Time flies, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Hubert stood from his seat. “Bye.”</p><p>“What? You wouldn’t do that to me.” She looked at him with eyes that feigned innocence. He glared at her and sat back down. But he <em> did </em> ignore the rest of her teasing with only a small blush on his face. It ceased when Ferdinand returned a few minutes later, and Hubert made sure to lean his arm back on their shared armrest. Ferdinand took his seat, leaning on Hubert’s arm in their weird competition-protest-excuse to make physical contact.</p><p>“Talk about anything interesting while I was gone?” he asked. Hubert frowned.</p><p>Edelgard, thankfully, had a neutral expression— her teasing grins had been wiped from her face. “Just you,” she answered.</p><p>“Oh <em> come </em> on. What were you really talking about?”</p><p>She shrugged. “Nothing important.” They started talking about something menial for the rest of intermission, and Hubert made a point to send her a glare behind his bangs. She responded with a simple raised brow and continued her conversation.</p><p>Soon the show began Act II, and thus did Hubert return to watching Ferdinand. He tried to make it less obvious— sure Edelgard was more perceptive than most, but he didn’t want anyone else catching on. His feelings were fresh and raw, and they burned his heart too deep. He needed to let them sit, so he could figure out if this was infatuation or…</p><p>The L-word.</p><p><em> Goddammit, Hubert, </em> he thought as he glanced back to the stage. <em> You’re letting this get to your head. How could it ever become more than this? You saw how Ferdinand’s father acted toward you before you pretended to be dating Edelgard. Besides, there’s no way he’d like you like that. </em>Admittedly, Hubert knew nothing of Ferdinand’s love life, but he had convinced himself that it was unlikely to be favorable to him. It brought an empty feeling into his chest.</p><p><em> Okay, </em> he conceded. <em> I’ll let myself indulge in this. Just for now. </em></p><p>
  <em> Just to get rid of this feeling. </em>
</p><p>And, for the rest of the musical, his eyes were stuck on Ferdinand. He didn’t even protest this time when Edelgard suggested an after-show snack on frozen yogurt— he even allowed Ferdinand to pay for his cup with a terribly-suppressed blush across his cheeks.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Hubert tried hard to stay out of another spiral. He returned to school begrudgingly the next week and began to work his way through the piles of make-up assignments he had to complete. He returned to work, as thankfully he only missed one shift and his boss was understanding (he <em> was </em> one of the best employees, after all). And he returned to his music, both the double bass and the bass guitar, as he began to practice more with Edelgard. His father was still an asshole, but he managed to avoid fights by staying away from home, and he only drank the occasional beer when the fights <em> did </em>happen.</p><p>Was the voice in his head gone? He wasn’t sure— a lot of the time he existed normally, without any obvious indicator that the intrusive thoughts remained. But there were times where Hubert would think <em> I hate myself </em>, and he didn’t know if it was the voice or if it was himself. Regardless, he threw himself completely into two distractions: his music, and the thought of Ferdinand.</p><p>On a cool afternoon in late February, Hubert was engulfing himself in the former. He was at Edelgard’s house, plucking away at the basslines for a handful of <em> Fall Out Boy </em> songs that Edelgard had mused about covering. She was on her bed, guitar in her hands, strumming away at the chords and stopping periodically to write her ideas down.</p><p>“How’s the song going?” Hubert asked after he got bored of playing along to <em> Death Valley </em>.</p><p>Edelgard furrowed her eyebrows. “Well… I have vague ideas.” Ever since the week before she had been working on this new song, piecing it together in her head. She strummed at the guitar again, which was quiet since it wasn’t plugged into her amp.</p><p>“We could always write the lyrics first,” he offered.</p><p>“I want to do the instrumentals before anything else.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>She set down her instrument to pencil another chord on the paper in front of her. “I have an idea, and I’d rather have you fit the lyrics into it once I’m done writing it. The chorus will be fast and energetic, but most of the rest of the song will be slow and quiet. And I want to give the bass time to shine.”</p><p>Hubert ran his fingers over the strings of his bass. “Me? Time to shine?”</p><p>“Yeah. I think this song is going to take a while though. I have to write a drum part…”</p><p>“No you don’t.”</p><p>“I’m going to, anyway,” she argued, finally drawing her attention from the song to meet his eyes. “I want to scout for a drum player soon. I even wrote a drum part for <em> Poisonmouth </em> .”</p><p>When it came to their band, Edelgard’s tenacity and resolve was unmatched. She put her all into playing— she practiced every day, knew a ton of songs by heart, wrote their own music, and even memorized every part of it. Hubert wished he could have that dedication.</p><p>“Where are we going to find someone?” he asked. He didn’t know a single person in Garreg Mach who played the drums, and even then he really wouldn’t want to accept some random stranger whom they didn’t know.</p><p>She shrugged. “I’ll figure that out at some point.”</p><p>Hubert groaned and turned back to his music. He started absentmindedly playing <em> Poisonmouth </em>, their only original song so far. The lyrics flooded his head— of course they did, he had spent countless hours singing them to himself so that their performance at the talent show last December would go as smoothly as possible. Before he could start to sing, though, Edelgard spoke again.</p><p>“It’s almost March, huh?” she muttered as she kept working on the new song.</p><p>“It’s almost March,” Hubert affirmed.</p><p>“You know… there’s only another month and a half until your eighteenth birthday.”</p><p>He stopped playing. “Yeah. Believe me, I’ve been counting the days.”</p><p>“A month and a half until you’re out of there,” she said with a soft smile on her face. “Just a month and a half.”</p><p>He smiled back. <em> A month and a half. </em></p><p>“Yeah, now get over here and plug your guitar into your amp. I’ve been itching to play ever since I got here,” he said.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>And Hubert lost himself in the music, levity in his chest.</p><p>
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</p><p>“You were right. This <em> is </em> a shithole,” Edelgard remarked.</p><p>The two stood in front of Hubert’s new apartment on a brisk, rainy, April day. It was three days exactly after Hubert’s eighteenth birthday, and he wasted little time in severing the relationship with his parents. He shuddered thinking about the confrontation, actually, earlier that day when he had packed all of his stuff into the back of a U-Haul and his and Edelgard’s father’s cars. But he was free, and that’s what mattered.</p><p>The shithole of an apartment he chose was actually the cheapest thing he could find within a twenty mile radius— for the low, low price of roughly eight hundred bucks a month, he could get a place fifteen minutes from his school, in a particularly shady part of town. The apartment he was renting smelled like dust and mothballs and there were some weird stains on the carpet, but it didn’t matter. This was home, and it would be leagues better than his last one.</p><p>Hubert unlocked the front door with his key and gestured Edelgard and her father inside. “It may be a shithole, but it’s <em> my </em> shithole,” he said. They carried in what few boxes and pieces of furniture he had and began unpacking.</p><p>Thankfully he didn’t have much— he was sure his parents wouldn’t take to him kindly if he returned to get more things. So within an hour they were done, and Hubert immediately collapsed on his bed.</p><p>“Get back up!” Edelgard said as soon as his back hit the mattress. “We still have to go buy you more furniture, kitchen supplies, groceries, cleaning supplies, toiletries, and probably more things—”</p><p>“I’m tired,” Hubert groaned. He checked his phone for the time— it was only three-thirty. It felt like it had been days since he was last at his house, though it had only been a few hours.</p><p><em> His old house, </em> he corrected in his head. He didn’t live there anymore.</p><p>“If you want to have a housewarming party this evening, this place should, at minimum, look <em> inhabitable </em>,” she stressed. “Especially if Ferdinand comes.”</p><p>Hubert frowned at her. She had a smug smile on her face, as if her teasing would have any effect— but he had mastered the skill of holding in his feelings just to thwart it. His heart still pounded on his ribcage, but at least he was proficient in keeping a neutral expression.</p><p>“I hope so,” was all he said. She rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Come on! The faster we finish, the earlier we can invite him over.”</p><p>He picked up his phone and started scrolling through social media. “I need to check my bank account to see how much money I can spend.”</p><p>“Liar. You’re looking at your Instagram feed,” she said as she bent down beside him to glimpse at his screen.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes at her and opened his bank app.</p><p>“I have a couple thousand. How much furniture can I get with that?”</p><p>She frowned. “If we scour second hand resale shops, we can probably find some decent couches and tables for a couple hundred. I think you’ll be fine.” Then she stood and tried to pull him up with her. “You’re making my dad wait.”</p><p>“Fine,” Hubert sighed. He felt way too tired to go and <em> shop </em>, but Edelgard was right— her dad was helping (and agreed to help pay for some things) as a late birthday present, and they were planning on inviting Ferdinand over. It was already embarrassing enough for Ferdinand to have seen the beer cans scattered on his bedroom floor all those months ago; he couldn’t have an equally gross apartment. It was gross enough from the start, anyway.</p><p>They browsed for what felt like hours. At the first resale shop they went to, Hubert agreed to get whatever mismatched pieces of furniture he could find, but Edelgard wouldn’t let him purchase anything overly gaudy. They moved from store to store until they found a couch and kitchen table set that wasn’t half-broken, mismatched, or overpriced. Then they bought all of the <em> other </em> things Hubert would need for living on his own; he winced when he swiped his debit card for a total of over three hundred dollars at the grocery store.</p><p>As soon as they managed to get his apartment set up (again!) and after her father had left, Edelgard called Ferdinand.</p><p>“Hey,” she said and paused. Hubert glared at her from the kitchen pantry as he opened a freshly-purchased box of Cheez-Its.</p><p>“Yeah, Hubert’s all moved in! Would you want to come by for a housewarming party?”</p><p>He sat down next to her on the couch; he could almost hear Ferdinand on the phone, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying. His stomach twisted as Ferdinand seemed to say more than a simple “yes”— there was a part of him that <em> really </em> wanted him to come.</p><p>“Okay. Yeah, I’ll send the address. See you in an hour or so?” Hubert’s heart gladly skipped a beat. “Okay, bye.” Edelgard hung up and turned to him.</p><p>“Excited?”</p><p>“I guess,” he muttered as he shoved Cheez-Its into his mouth.</p><p>The hour wait felt just as long as when they shopped earlier that evening. Hubert didn’t even know what to do— here he was, in his own apartment, with the freedom he had dreamed of for <em> years </em> and he didn’t know how to live without the overbearing pressure of his parents. The liberty was so sweet that it burned his teeth and his throat as he drank it all in.</p><p>So he and Edelgard settled for playing music on her phone’s speakers and just <em> relaxing </em>. It was an almost-foreign concept to him, but now he had a six hundred square foot space all to himself, without any mom to be blind to his family’s struggles and dad to be the struggles themselves. He felt his limbs loosen, weary from moving boxes and furniture and walking through stores all day long. How he wished he could get drunk to truly celebrate and alleviate the rest of the anxieties and emptiness inside of him.</p><p>A text rang from Edelgard’s phone as there was a hesitant knocking at Hubert’s front door. He let Edelgard greet their guest as his heart skipped a beat.</p><p>“Hey,” Ferdinand greeted, taking a careful look through the ramshackle apartment. Hubert could only get half a glimpse of him from where his couch sat, but it was enough to send his mind into an anxious overdrive. Just like at Claude’s party, Ferdinand was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans— not his normal holier-than-thou button up and dress pants— and it made his heart skip even more beats.</p><p>“Welcome,” Hubert replied, trying to act casual as he straightened his god-awful posture and brushed the Cheez-It crumbs from his chest.</p><p>Edelgard shut the door and Ferdinand wandered into the living room. He looked around at the hastily-cleaned walls and simple decor, then his gaze ended on Hubert. “...Nice place?” he said.</p><p>“It is, most certainly, a <em> place </em>,” Edelgard affirmed.</p><p>“She’s upset because there was a dead cockroach in the shower earlier,” Hubert explained. “It may not be the nicest, but it’s mine.”</p><p>Ferdinand smiled and took Edelgard’s seat on the couch— right next to Hubert. Edelgard took the space on his other side with only a hint of a teasing smirk on her face.</p><p>“I’m glad you were able to move out,” Ferdinand said. Hubert had to stare at a point just beyond his head to conceal his nerves. “Did everything go smoothly today?”</p><p>“No,” he answered, and thankfully Ferdinand didn’t press him on it. The memories of the last time his father would yell at him would forever remain tucked into the back of his mind, only to resurface just before retreating into drunkenness. They weren’t to be taken out anytime soon.</p><p>“So what are we doing for this ‘party’?” Ferdinand asked as Edelgard started playing music again. He flinched at the volume and the sounds so foreign compared to classical music. Hubert would’ve laughed if only he wasn’t trying to conceal whatever mess of emotions lingered within him.</p><p>“Nothing much,” Edelgard answered for him, and she kicked her feet up onto the arm of the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just hanging out.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you listen to that,” Ferdinand said.</p><p>“It’s just <em> The Offspring </em>,” he sighed.</p><p>Ferdinand crossed his arms, feigning comfort— if anything, Hubert could tell he was nervous for some reason. Was getting his own apartment really such a surprise? Was he really <em> that </em> intimidating? Even though they had hung out before— hell, Ferdinand had seen his room littered with beer cans and himself in nothing but a <em> towel </em>— this time was different. The tension between them ran as thick as honey.</p><p>“It’s <em> weird, </em> that’s what it is.” He leaned back against the couch, his arms tense at his sides. Yeah, he was nervous alright. And easy to read.</p><p>Edelgard must’ve recognized the tension as well, because she was quick to give them a real topic of conversation. “I know Hubert can play the bassline for this song pretty well, and I even taught him the guitar parts.”</p><p>“Oh? You can play the guitar, too?” Ferdinand asked.</p><p>“I left mine in the trunk of his car,” Edelgard mentioned. “I’m sure he could show you.”</p><p>“I would prefer not to.”</p><p>She lifted an eyebrow and turned her head toward him. “Then would you rather play the song together?”</p><p>He hoped his glare reflected the apprehension he felt about playing in front of Ferdinand. “I’m too tired,” he lied.</p><p>“Oh come on,” Edelgard said as she stood. “You look tense. We should play something for him.”</p><p>Hubert and Ferdinand exchanged a nervous glance. But he said, “Fine,” and he retreated into his bedroom to grab the bass and amp that sat in the corner, hastily placed away like all of his other belongings. He set it up in the living room, careful to avoid glancing at Ferdinand to fend off the emotions from showing so clearly on his face.</p><p>He wasn’t oblivious— he had felt Ferdinand’s intense gaze through his entire performance at the talent show all those months ago. The awe that filled his expression was all-consuming. Knowing him, he had probably beat himself up about it ever since.</p><p><em>No,</em> <em>that wasn’t true.</em> This wasn’t like when he lost a chair test as a freshman or sophomore. There was no jealousy. Maybe what he had said was right— that their performance was truly admirable, when he and Edelgard had come to his house the first time he drank himself into oblivion. Back then, his heart was so occupied with his father and his shame that it didn’t throb at the sincerity. Now, it throbbed at every possible chance— an awry gaze, an awkward smile, and each word Ferdinand spoke.</p><p>Hubert strummed at his bass strings, sending a low echo through the apartment. He wished to hide away his feelings for the stupid, pompous, <em> attractive </em> boy in front of him, but no matter how he tried they wouldn’t go away. So he stood in the living room of his new apartment, Edelgard next to him, holding the instruments that had spurred such amazement in him.</p><p>“Would you want to sing to it?” Edelgard asked as she opened Spotify again, her fingers hovering over the song they were about to play along to.</p><p>“Why would I?” Hubert scoffed. It was embarrassing enough that they were putting on a performance for one person— why were they doing this again? To relieve his tension? How ironic.</p><p>“Oh, don’t be modest,” she said. “We all know you know the lyrics by heart.”</p><p>He sighed and stared at the ground as Edelgard started the song, not daring to catch Ferdinand’s eyes. There was a long drum solo in the beginning, but when the music started Hubert felt his hands move to the rhythm by themselves. He almost forgot about Ferdinand sitting in front of him as he lost himself in the music, especially Edelgard’s guitar solo.</p><p>She sent him a glare whenever the singing started. He returned it. If she really wanted him to sing, she should’ve provided some alcohol.</p><p>The song was over before Hubert realized, and he collapsed back onto the couch next to an awestruck Ferdinand. He hid his red face behind his hair and clenched his fists in the fabric of his pants— every emotion that rushed through him was too much to handle. The music. Ferdinand. Being <em> free </em>. It hurt his heart.</p><p>Before Ferdinand could give his usual sincere praise, Edelgard perked up at the next song. “We <em> have </em> to play along to this one.”</p><p>“<em> What? </em> ” Hubert spat, with <em> Take Me Out </em> by <em> Franz Ferdinand </em> playing through her phone’s speaker. Judging by the sly smile on her face, she was teasing him. Was it luck that the next song that happened to play was one about <em> sexual tension </em>, or did she add it to the queue?</p><p>Her smirk grew wider. Yeah, she added it to the queue. <em> Curse her. </em></p><p>“This one sounds… not as bad as the others,” Ferdinand admitted. </p><p>Hubert nodded, feeling his hands move along to the simple bass line of the song from his spot on the couch. Edelgard picked up on the main melody, and she shot him the same glare as earlier when the lyrics started— but this time, she was the one who started singing.</p><p>A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and by the next verse, he could hear himself muttering the words. Alright, maybe he couldn’t really help himself when it came to music like this. Besides, this was an occasion to be celebrated.</p><p>The chorus came with a wild smile on both his and Edelgard’s faces. Hubert was tapping the beat of the drums with his foot. His low voice clashed with Edelgard’s. Surprisingly, it was the most fun he had felt while playing a song since their debut performance at the talent show— maybe it was the lightheartedness of the evening? The fact that Ferdinand was there, loosening the threads of his heart one-by-one? They were certainly bothering his new neighbors, but he didn’t care. Let them complain about the noise— he was happy.</p><p><em> House of Wolves </em> came on next; Hubert had to resist playing along. His fingers formed the chords on the neck, but he didn’t strum.</p><p>“That looked like fun!” Ferdinand said. He reached out his hand to Hubert. “Let me try.”</p><p>“It’s not that simple,” he scoffed, but he handed his bass over anyway, watching Ferdinand fumble with the instrument foreign to him. “Look, you don’t even know any of the strings.”</p><p>“Same as the double bass, right?” He shrugged, trying to place his fingers on the frets. “It… uh… can’t be <em> that </em>hard.” He strummed all of the strings at once and Hubert winced.</p><p>“Leave the bass playing to me,” he sighed.</p><p>“I can do it!” Ferdinand argued. “Just… show me something easy?”</p><p>Hubert moved his fingers around on the strings, setting his index finger on the E on the A-string. His hand felt cold. “Fine, strum this note—” Ferdinand followed his directions and he placed his next finger down— “then these three, then shift down and do these two here, and repeat…” He followed the directions, plucking the notes slow and awkwardly.</p><p>“There,” Hubert finished, drawing his own clammy hands back before a blush settled on his face for good. “That’s the bassline to <em> Seven Nation Army </em>.”</p><p>Ferdinand plucked it a few more times. “Cool,” he muttered, and he glanced up with a fierce look in his eyes— the same one he had during chair tests and concerts. “Maybe I’ll join the band next? How does backup bass sound?”</p><p>“I <em>said</em>, leave it to me,” he said and took his instrument back. It was warm where Ferdinand’s hands were.</p><p>Edelgard cleared her throat, as if they had forgotten about her presence entirely (though, with Ferdinand so close like this, Hubert kind of did). “I would have to say, you’d be an interesting— perhaps <em>insufferable</em>— addition to the band. But if you want to…”</p><p>Ferdinand shook his head, almost too quickly. “Oh, no. I wasn’t being serious.”</p><p>She shrugged. “We do need someone on the drums.”</p><p><em> They couldn’t seriously consider him for the drums, right? </em> He had no experience, and the drums were probably the hardest instrument to learn for a band. Despite that, there was some odd sense of hope in Hubert’s chest that was dashed when Ferdinand shook his head again.</p><p>“I don’t think I’d have the time for it right now,” he said. The fierce, competitive look was dissolving from his eyes.</p><p>“Let us know if you change your mind, then,” Edelgard said, with a sympathetic glance to Hubert. He glared back— he would be fine! It would be better if he wasn’t in the band anyway, so there’d be no distractions, or anything…</p><p>At least, that’s what he told himself. He didn’t believe it.</p><p>“Come on, Hubert. Let’s play as many songs as we can until your new neighbors send us a noise complaint,” she offered, drawing him out of his thoughts.</p><p>And for the rest of the night, they played, with a strange levity obscuring the emptiness in Hubert’s chest and Ferdinand’s gaze boring salmon-pink holes into his body.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: ferdinand's resolve.</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605763">crack my (heart)strings</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/betthoven/pseuds/betthoven">betthoven</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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